


20 Days of Chub: Stuffing/Feeding

by Star_Sniper



Series: 20 Days of Chub: Eren/Armin [5]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Belly Kink, Feeding, M/M, Slow Burn, Stuffing, Weight Gain, chubby!marco, fat kink, feederism, royal!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-07-15 16:32:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7230148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Sniper/pseuds/Star_Sniper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Royal AU: It's the fashion amongst the nobles to have a fat companion at their side. When Prince Eren is gifted the frail Outsider Armin, a surprising opportunity arises. </p><p>[20 Days of Chub taken from the <a href="http://iwritetheweirdstuff.tumblr.com/post/131390268767/20-days-of-chub-kink">20 Days of Chub Challenge.</a>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Kingdoms of Yaeger and Kirstein had formed a powerful alliance over the centuries, uniting against all and any foe that threatened their peaceful existence. Kirstein, the Kingdom of industry, protected them with their powerful military and endless stone walls, built high to keep out the dreaded Titans that roamed the land. Yeager, the Kingdom of magic, aided the soldiers with talented mages, and erected shimmering wards in additions to the walls, using sparks of ether and the elements themselves to drive the monsters away from their kingdoms. Magic and machine worked hand in hand, and as time went by, the kingdoms merged into one powerful civilisation. 

The Kingdom of Sina was a grand and sprawling metropolis, with a grand castle nestled behind the inner most wall. Three walls in total were erected as protection against the Titans, each built with powerful reinforcements, and protected with potent magical wards. The stones gleamed blue and violet in the sunlight, a green shimmer rippling across the surface now and again. Any Titans foolhardy enough to approach the wall were stunned with a flash of lightning, and any who kept moving closer were reduced to ashes with a flare of brilliant blue flame. No Titan had ever even touched the walls, even the rare abnormals who came closer to towering over the brickwork, and so the Kingdom of Sina was safe. 

Wall Maria was the outer most wall, and was built with far sturdier and taller than the others. The spell-work that weaved through the masonry was strong, those who lived close to the wall reported smelling a greasy, metallic scent, and both mages and soldiers made the rounds to ensure that there was no patch left uncovered. Small villages and stretches of farmland flourished between Wall Maria and Wall Rose, the second wall that in turn protected the larger portions of the kingdom, the towns and cities, and the grand factories and schools of magic. The people here were poorer than most, working hard on the fields and in the few larger factories that had been built outside of Wall Rose, but even the lowliest peasant was well cared for. 

As they were so well protected, well cared for, and well fed, the average citizen of Sina ranged from chubby to fat. 

It was why the boy's appearance had caused such a stir. Slender people were not unheard of, soldiers were required to be in better shape, the occasional person just had a naturally thin build, and some chose to shed weight for their own, personal, aesthetic reasons. But this boy was very thin, with bony arms and legs, and a concave stomach. His build was frail, and almost childlike, his true age was only shown by the weariness in his big blue eyes. 

He was an Outsider, found slumped just feet from the seldom used Gate. It had been fortunate that the Survey Corps had found him, on a rare expedition outside of the walls. At first they had thought he was a mage who had spirted himself outside despite the strong enchantments in place, or perhaps a soldier who had lost his way. But then the boy had spoken, with a quiet, lilting accent that seemed so foreign to them, and it was confirmed.

He was an Outsider. Not knowing what else to do, he was taken to the King. The King, concerned for the boy's frail nature, gifted the blond to the youngest of his two sons. 

“What am I supposed to do with him?” Eren complained as he lounged back in his chair, a frown pulling across his mouth, “He's no use as a servant. Look at him, he's just so frail! He wouldn't last as a labourer.” He looked to his manservant, a short, stern man with a perpetual glower. “Do you need a servant? He's yours if you want it.”

“While I appreciate the generous offer, your Highness,” Levi responded dryly, he refused to put on airs and graces for any of the royal family asides from the King and Queen themselves, “I fee that you are missing an opportunity here. You recall your displeasure at the fact that your brother's,” his lips twitched, “'Pet', was drawing so much attention at the Winter Ball last month?”

“Oh yes,” Eren slumped further into his seat, “That boy at his side. The fat boy with freckles. I did not know it was so-” he waved a hand in irritation, “- so fashionable to have a fat servant at one's side! When did that happen?”

“It is a status symbol,” Levi began shortly, his dark eyes barely flickering towards the blond boy knelt before them, “In days of old, a status symbol was measured by a man's waist. But with the younger generation, it is becoming increasingly popular to have fat servants. A man who is able to spoil his staff, to the point where they carry excess weight, is a kind, generous, and wealthy man.”

“Yes, yes,” Eren forced a sigh over his lower lip, “I know. Jean got this fat boy as a servant to prove how very kind and very generous and very wealthy he is. What of it?”

“The boy is no servant,” Levi shook his head stiffly, “He is not there to serve. He is merely a status symbol. His role is to be a companion to your brother, to remain pleasantly round, and to look happy. I dare say that there are other duties that your brother has him preform, but his primary duty is remaining fat. Hence the term 'pet'. This is another fashion that is spreading through Sina.” 

“Then get me a fat pet!” Eren demanded as he sat up, banging his hand down against the arm of his chair, causing the silent blond to flinch, “One far prettier and chubbier than the freckled boy!” 

“If I may,” Levi interrupted the young price smoothly, “I have a better idea. Showing off a fat companion is all well and good, but it would be much more impressive to create a fat companion. To show how truly kind and generous you are,” he bit back a sigh on seeing Eren's blank gaze, “You start out with a thin companion, and make them into a fat pet, allowing the Kingdom to see how well you are treating them, with their very own eyes.” 

“Then,” Eren looked down at the bowed head of blond hair, “You are saying I take this tiny creature as my companion?”

“Yes,” Levi nodded, “You should show him at the Gala, come the end of the week. Allow everyone to see how thin and frail he is. But at the Winter Ball, next year? He will have blossomed into a companion worthy of the title. You already have the upper hand with his exotic colouring, you can take that further by making him a plump as your brother's pet,” Levi raised a thin eyebrow, “Or perhaps plumper.”

“Then it will be done,” Eren decided with a firm nod, “I will tell Father of my decision. Levi, you-”

“I will make the arrangements for your new companion,” Levi responded with a brief bow, “He will be ready by the time you return from the Throne Room, your Highness.”

-

The room he had been given was small and cosy, an open archway separating it from the Prince's own bedchamber. The Outsider stood uselessly by the window as other servants traipsed in and out, scurrying to obey Levi's sharp orders. A bed was procured, one smaller than the Prince's own, but far larger than the Outsider had ever seen. A comfortable mattress was fitted with silk sheets and heavy blankets, with feather stuffed pillows placed at the headboard. A simple dresser was erected by the wall, an assortment of lotions and ointments tucked away within the topmost drawer, with a mirror hung above it. Another mirror was placed in the far corner, a free standing, full length mirror, with an ornate silver frame. It was already polished until it was gleaming, but Levi still attacked it with a soft cloth once the servants had left them be. 

“Do you speak?” Levi looked at the Outsider from over his shoulder, “I was told that you speak.”

“Y-yes,” the Outsider responded softly, shrinking underneath Levi's hard stare, “I speak.”

“You are to call me Sir,” Levi instructed as he turned his attention back to the mirror, “Unusual accent. It's true that you come from outside the walls?”

“Yes,” the Outsider began, before catching himself with a wince, “I mean... yes, Sir.”

“Titans roam the land outside,” Levi continued, working on a slight smear that marred the mirror's surface, “How is it you were able to survive out there? You are nothing more than a slip of a boy. I've seen children sturdier than you.”

“I lived in a village. By the sea,” the Outsider swallowed at the memory, “But the Titans came. I ran. Grandfather told me stories about the great Kingdom of Sina. He said I would be safe there. So I ran.”

“It's rare for Outsiders to make it here,” Levi flicked his gaze briefly at the blond, “You understand that the King has been exceedingly generous to allow you into the inner most wall. That the position you have been given is one that even the nobles would covet. Any other King would send you to work on the farms or in the factories,” Levi snored derisively, “Not that you would be much use there.” 

“Yes sir,” the Outsider shivered, curling his toes away from the cold marble floor, “S-sir? What was spoken in the Throne Room-”

“Yes. That will be your role,” Levi finished for him, turning away from the mirror to study the trembling blond, “The Prince is hotheaded and impulsive, but he isn't cruel. He won't cause you any harm. You listen to what he says, keep him company, and grow fat and happy at his side.”

“Fat and happy,” the Outsider repeated, his fingers brushing against his sunken stomach, hidden underneath the oversized shirt he had been given to wear, “H-how am I able to become fat?” 

“I'll take care of that,” Levi answered, climbing to his feet; even the tiny Outsider was still an inch or so taller than him, “I take it that your village wasn't nearly as prosperous as the Kingdom?”

“No sir,” the Outsider shook his head, “I... have never seen such comfortable people before. At home,” pain flickered into the depths of his eyes again, “Some were more comfortable than others. But it all depended on the sea. If she would give us enough fish to live on. Sometimes she would provide, other times she would take away.”

“Comfortable people,” Levi repeated in faint amusement, “There's a lot of those around here. You needn't worry about depending on the sea. You'll be well provided for. Especially since you'll be becoming one of those 'comfortable people'.” He tucked his cleaning cloth about his person, and inspected the room with his calculating dark eyes. 

“This will do. I imagine the Prince will ask you to spend some of your time in his chambers,” Levi turned to study the Outsider, and reached out to critically inspect the hem of his shirt, “I'll send someone to come and make you look presentable before the Prince. You will eat in front of him.” Levi crossed the room to the dresser, and pulled open the top drawer. He retrieved a small vial from within, and uncorked it with a light pop. “I understand you are not used to large amounts of food,” Levi held the vial out to the Outsider, “This will help.”

“What is it?” the Outsider took the vial, and sniffed the sweet contents, “I... I mean.. what is it, sir?”

“A simple concoction. Often used on fussy brats,” Levi shrugged a narrow shoulder, “It'll help you stomach whatever the Prince has planned as your first meal. I know him. He's well meaning, but bullheaded. He'll want to charge straight ahead into feeding you up, but you're not built to handle much yet. It'll help you, and it'll keep him in a good temper.”

The Outsider held the vial to his lips, and drank. The concoction was sweet and cloying, a sugary mixture that slid down his throat. There was a hint of something unique, a sharp tang that tasted unlike anything he had ever He held the empty vial out to Levi, who whisked it about his person with a calculated nod. The Outsider felt a warmth start to spread through him, little tendrils of sunshine that spread down to the tips of his fingers. 

“I sill send for someone to tend to you,” Levi began to retreat, only stopping to swipe a misplaced duster from the windowsill, “Do not leave this room until then.” With that, he was gone, leaving the Outsider gazing out of the window, a hand still held to his concave stomach. 

-

The Outsider had never been so clean before. Two servant girls had taken him to one of the bath chambers, a beautifully tiled room with a sunken bath in the floor itself. Petra, a kind woman with auburn hair, had carefully washed every remaining speck of dirt from the Outsider's pale skin. The other servant girl, Sasha, had massaged all manner of shampoos and conditioners into the Outsider's hair, marvelling at how fair it was. Dark and auburn hair was far more common in Sina, with only the occasional blond. The Outsider shivered as he was patted dry, both Sasha and Petra taking care not to hurt his fragile form, and stood obediently as they dressed him. 

The Prince was waiting for him by the time the Outsider was returned to the bedchambers. Eren was sat on a low couch in front of the roaring fire, the table in front of him filled with three covered dishes. He looked up sharply on hearing the Outsider enter, and waved his hand dismissively at Sasha and Petra, silently instructing them to leave. They did without so much as a second thought, leaving the Outside standing alone in the centre of the room. He had never felt more vulnerable, especially with those intense, teal eyes looking him up and down.

“Come here and join me,” Eren instructed, and as the Outsider padded across the floor to him, he could see that a wide and plump cushion had been set on the other side of the table for him, “Sit there.” The Outsider knelt carefully onto the plush cushion, his gaze lowered. He could smell all manner of scents coming from the covered dishes, and without warning, his stomach growled alarmingly behind his shirt. The Outsider's eyes widened in fear, his heart racing in his chest as he curled his hands tightly against the excess material of the silken pants he had been given. 

To his astonishment, the young Prince was laughing. 

“Hungry, huh? Hey, you can look at me you know,” Eren's eyes glittered as he watched the blond raise his head, “That's better. You are timid, aren't you? Don't worry. I'm not gonna hurt you. That's kind of the exact opposite of what I'm going for here. Levi explained what's gonna happen, yeah?” The Outsider nodded solemnly. “So since you're so very little, I figure it's best we get started straight away.”

Eren leant over to uncover the first dish. The Outsider's eyes widened on seeing a white, fluffy mound of potato, soaked yellow with butter. The rich smell made his mouth water, his stomach churning at the thought of food, of real food. Other than the bread given to him by the soldiers who had found him, he hadn't eaten real food in such a long time. Not ever since he had left the village. He licked his lips, unaware he was doing so, which drew another warm chuckle from the Prince. 

“Eager. I like it. Here,” Eren reached out for the serving spoon, partially filling it with mashed potato, “I figure it'd be easy for you to start off with. I know that Jean gives Marco this all of the time, so that's got to be why he's so fat.” He offered the spoon out to the Outsider, who moved his hand to take it. “Ahh, no. I want to feed you this time.”

The Outsider blinked, puzzled, before leaning in to take a small mouthful of mashed potato. It was amazing. The potato had been whipped into a fine fluff, which in turn was saturated with a rich butter. The first mouthful melted on his tongue, and before he knew it, he was taking a second, larger, mouthful. The Outsider closed his eyes as he ate, enjoying the simple pleasure of the meal. He would eat, Eren would scoop up a fresh mound of mashed potato, and the Outsider would delicately eat his way through it once again. It was slow work, the Outsider was unaccustomed to eating so much at once and it wasn't long before he felt full. 

As the Prince dipped the spoon down to refill it, the Outsider touched a hand to his full stomach. It was still sunken, though not quite as bad as before, and he swore that he could feel a firmness underneath his fingertips. He massaged the skin desperately, trying to ease the slight discomfort that had settled in the pit of his stomach. He was barely a quarter way through the dish, surely the Prince would be furious if he gave up without making so much as a dent. The Outsider gasped as something surged inside of him, the fullness fading away. He touched his stomach again, the skin felt ever so slightly softer than before. 

“What's wrong?” Eren demanded, the Outsider looked up in alarm, “You can't be full, can you?” 

“No,” the Outsider murmured, his cheeks colouring, “N-no your Highness. I am-,” he cut himself off as another light growl of hunger sounded, his blush deepening, “I am still hungry, your Highness.”

“I'll say,” Eren grinned as he offered out another spoonful of food, piled far higher than before, “You eat so delicately. Like a bird. No wonder you're so thin.” He watched as the Outsider began to eat again, taking tiny little mouthfuls each time. He was eating faster now, Eren noticed with some relief, he was starting to grow impatient with how slowly the blond ate. After another spoonful of potato, the Outsider's eyes closed again, his eyelashes dark against his pale skin. Eren watched the firelight play against the Outsider's effeminate features, highlighting the warm colour of his hair. 

No matter how much he ate, the Outsider couldn't become full. His stomach would feel full, he would shift on his cushion uncomfortably, and then there was that rush inside of him and the fullness vanished, to be replaced with an almost gnawing hunger. Eren would load up another spoonful of mashed potato, and the Outsider would eat his way through it, going so far as to lick at the bowl of the spoon in an attempt to get every last bit. The skin stretched over his concave stomach softened further each time, supple and unrelenting underneath the Outsider's curious fingertips. 

“You're doing so much better than I expected,” Eren admitted as he set the spoon down in the empty dish, causing a clang of metal against metal, “Keep going like this and you'll be as big as Marco before you know it.” He grinned triumphantly at the thought, and set about uncovering the second dish. Steam curled up from a creamy soup, a vibrant orangey-red with a swirl of white artfully added onto it's surface. A sweet, yet rich scent flooded the Outsider's nostrils, and he felt his stomach grumble quietly in anticipation. 

“How big is Marco, your Highness?” the Outsider asked softly as Eren stirred the soup with a ladle. 

“He's pretty chubby. You know the servant girl you were with, Sasha?” the Outsider nodded politely, “Well he's about twice the size of her.”

The Outsider felt his heart skip a beat. Sasha had been a chubby girl, with a pot belly and thick thighs, with dimples in her chubby cheeks. In his eyes, she was already fairly big, certainly fat. This 'Marco' that he was in competition with, he was twice the size again? He simply couldn't picture it in his mind. He gave a start on finding a ladle full of soup before him, and he slowly sipped at it. The tomato soup was delicious, and somehow far heavier than the mashed potato had been. It slid teasingly over his tongue and down his throat, and the Outsider could feel it pooling into the pit of his stomach. While he was warm from the fire, the soup warmed him finger, making his pale skin tingle each time he swallowed. 

“You'll meet Marco tomorrow,” Eren continued, taking the greatest care not to spill the hot soup on his pet, “At the Gala. That's when I'm gonna introduce you. So people get to see how you are now, and they can compare it to how you are later,” he smiled, almost fondly as the Outsider lapped at a stray drop of soup that was clinging to the underside of the ladle, “Ahh, you're so cute. They're gonna love you.”

“What is a Gala, your Highness?” the Outsider asked between mouthfuls, he was becoming fuller more quickly on the soup, and he had slowed down his consumption in order to pace himself, “What am I to do there?”

“They didn't have Galas where you come from?” Eren asked in clear surprise, “Wow. Well a Gala is like a celebration. People from all over Sina come and perform for us. There's lots of food, lots of entertainment, and almost everyone comes to watch. We even invite people from the outer districts to come into the courtyard and watch.” He nudged the ladle against the Outsider's lips on seeing him hesitate, and didn't speak again until he started eating. “You won't have to do anything other than look nice and stay by my side. You got the looking nice part mostly down.”

“Mostly?” the Outsider rubbed at his aching side with some dismay, the surge was no longer happening as frequently, and over half of the soup remained, “Ahh.. I mean... your Highness.”

“Well you're really quite pretty,” Eren lowered the ladle down into the soup in order to gaze at the blond, “You got beautiful eyes. I like how pale your skin is, it makes you look so delicate. You're just so thin. I can see your bones,” he reached out to brush his fingertips against an exposed collarbone, “I don't think that's good. But you're just gonna be even more stunning when you get bigger.”

The Outsider allowed himself to look at the young Prince. Eren was slender himself, though there was the slightest of bulges at his midsection that suggested he was well fed. He had a handsome face, with defined cheekbones and stunning teal eyes, and his tanned skin was warm and flawless; the Outsider had never seen someone with a dark complexion before. He felt his cheeks burn, Eren was really quite handsome, in such a regal and elegant way. He bit a gasp back behind his hand as the surge finally rushed through his stomach, allowing it to mysteriously empty once more. 

“You keep touching your stomach,” Eren noted as he started to scrape at the bottom of the nearly endless soup bowl, “Is it hurting you? You're putting a lot in there, and it can't be that big to start with.” He tenderly fed the remnants of the soup to the Outsider, before standing from his seat, dropping the ladle onto the table with a loud clatter. “Lift your shirt. I want to see.”

Timidly, the Outsider bundled the ends of his shirt into his fingers, and slowly raised it up to his chest. He cried out in shock on looking down at himself. The tiniest curve of pale flesh was protruding out from his stomach, the barest hints of a belly. Eren knelt to stroke his long fingers along the side of it, the Outsider shivered at the sensation. His stomach felt so sensitive underneath Eren's fingertips, his breathing quickened as the Prince felt his way down his side. Eren grinned, and knelt down on the cushion next to the Outsider, his thigh brushing against his own. 

“You are good,” Eren decided with a delighted grin, “Look at that already! I mean still tiny. Even compared to me,” he patted the side of his small stomach for emphasis, “So come on. Last dish.” He leant over to take uncover the last dish, revealing a decadent chocolate mousse. Whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles had been added on top, and despite the fact he was starting to feel genuinely full, the mysterious stomach rushes or not, the Outsider a small pang of want deep inside of his stomach. 

“You wanna take over for this one?” Eren suggested, lifting the dish down from the table to set it on the floor in front of them, “Don't expect us to do this every single meal time. Though I wish we could,” he added with a longing sigh, “Still, we'll do this whenever we have the time to. I want to make sure you're eating, after all.” He settled on the cushion, placing both of his tanned hands against the faint bulge of the Outsider's pale stomach. “Go on then.”

Feeding himself wasn't nearly as pleasurable, the Outsider realised a couple of mouthfuls in, but the mousse was delectable. It was feather light, which was easy on his poor stomach, and the rich chocolate was complemented by the sweetness of the cream. He forced spoonful after spoonful of mousse past his lips, groaning softly as his stomach grew tight, and distended against Eren's hands. The Prince was delighted with his progress, and now and again, massaged his palms against the taut skin. That made the Outsider bite back a moan, Eren's hands felt so good against his sore skin, and he obediently ate another mouthful.

He was feeling full, beyond full, it felt as if his stomach surged out a little bit further, each and every time that he swallowed. The Outsider gasped, his breathing picking up as he worked his way through the dish, beads of sweat gathering on his brow. The helpful surging was no longer coming to him, it meant that his poor stomach was gradually being filled. He began to whimper around each spoonful, his stomach was so tight, and it felt enormous, as if he had somehow swallowed a balloon. But it only looked so small, barely the faintest curve against Eren's hands. 

“Hurts...” the Outsider gasped softly as he held the last spoonful, his hand trembling as he slowly manoeuvred it to his reluctant lips, “Your Highness-” he cut himself off in surprise as Eren leant forwards, licking the last helping of mousse from the spoon. 

“There. You did very well,” Eren grinned as he kneaded the Outsider's poor, bloated stomach, “Better than I could have ever imagined. You're gonna chub out something wonderful once you get going.” He took the spoon from the Outsider's slack hand, and gently wiped a remnant of mousse away from his lower lip. “Huh, that reminds me. I never thought to ask your name.”

“Armin,” the outsider whispered between breaths, a mixture of pain and pleasure radiating through his stomach, “My name is Armin.”


	2. Chapter 2

When the sunlight filtered in through the curtains, for a moment, Armin didn't know where he was. He sat up in his bed, peering blearily at his surroundings. Someone had lit a fire in the small hearth, and a fresh set of clothes had been set out on a nearby chair. He pushed back the heavy blankets from his legs, the memories of the previous day trickling into the forefront of his mind. The kindly King, the wry manservant, and the grinning Prince who had hand-fed him in front of a roaring fire. Armin blushed at the memory of that intimate moment, and climbed out of bed, an ornate rug protecting his bare feet from the icy cold marble floor underneath. 

His stomach had gone down overnight, concave and stretched tightly underneath his protruding ribcage, but it felt a little softer underneath Armin's probing fingertips. His pyjama pants hung loosely on his hips, just the night before they had fitted neatly around his bloated belly, and Armin found himself miming the curve of a stomach in front of his flat abdomen. An ambivalent shiver soaked his spine, dread and excitement curdling in his chest. He couldn't quite decide if he wanted to have a stomach like that all of the time, it wasn't that he was opposed to the idea, it was the terrifying lack of control that was being forced upon him.

Armin stood in front of the floor length mirror, frowning at his frail form. He had grown thinner since leaving the village, he hadn't eaten while making his way across the Titan inhabited plains. He had drank from the river he was following whenever the hunger had become too painful to bear. If he hadn't been found when he had, surely he would have eventually starved to death. Armin shivered, despite the warmth of the nearby fire. He would far sooner starve to death, rather than face a Titan again.

“Good morning,” Petra trilled cheerfully as she entered the bedchamber, Armin flinched in surprise, “Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.” She set down the breakfast tray that she was carrying onto the small table by the window, and began to set out a place for the blond. “Did you sleep well?” 

“I-I did, thank you,” Armin wrapped his arms about himself, watching as Petra placed a bowl of porridge on the table, cinnamon sprinkled across it's surface. It smelled heavenly, milky and sweet and comforting. It reminded him of home. 

“Eat,” Petra encouraged with a smile, gesturing for Armin to sit down, “Lord knows you could do with a good meal.” 

Armin sat down obediently and began to eat. He was surprised at how hungry he felt, despite his extremely filling meal the night before. The porridge was rich and creamy, and was balanced beautifully by the playful spark of cinnamon. He ate slowly as he watched Petra make his bed, with a practised ease that suggested she had done it many times before. He ate as she plumped his pillows and smoothed down his wrinkled sheets. She aired out his blankets with a flick of her wrists, before letting them fall neatly back into place.

“When you're done eating, Levi wants to see you,” Petra turned her attention to the fireplace, she took up the poker to prod at the burning embers, “I think he wants to go over what will happen at the Gala tonight.”

Armin wasn't keen on seeing the stern manservant, but he nodded all the same. He scraped the edge of his spoon around the inside of his bowl, gathering up as much porridge as he could into one spoonful. He was starting to become full, his stomach felt tight underneath the loose material of his pyjama shirt, but the porridge was too warm and comforting for him to stop. He needed to be warm and comfortable, if he had to see the intimidating Levi, but somewhere at the back of his mind, he realised that he was doing it for the young Prince. 

Armin sighed to himself. He was eager to please, he always had been, though it had never stopped the other village boys from picking on him. The Prince had been nothing but kind to him, if a little abrupt at times, but there was still that pressing need to please him. Armin could easily remember the feeling of Eren's hands against his stomach, strong and warm, reassuring against his painfully taut skin. He swallowed a large mouthful of porridge, positive that he could feel his stomach expanding beneath his shirt. Was he that desperate to be liked, to be cared for?

“Wow, you really can put away a lot for someone so small,” Petra's admiring voice cut into his thoughts, Armin found himself staring down into an empty, porridge smeared bowl, “Come on. Let's get you dressed so you can go and see Levi.”

Despite Armin's protests, Petra insisted on helping him get changed. 

“It's just how things are done here,” Petra explained as she gestured for Armin to step into the pair of trousers she was holding out for him, “You'll just have to get used to it.” She pulled them up to his waist, and buttoned them deftly across the slight bulge of his full stomach. She then pulled the shirt across his shoulders, and buttoned it with flying fingers, not so much as misplacing as single button into a single hole. She ran her palms down the blue fabric to smooth out the wrinkles, before stepping back to smile at the blond. 

“Levi has good taste,” Petra placed her hands on her hips, head tipped thoughtfully to the side, “That shirt really brings out the colour of your eyes.”

“Thank you,” Armin wrapped his arms self consciously about himself. His new clothes, while simple and plain in comparison to what he had worn the night before, fitted him almost perfectly. He had always worn hand-me-downs, and none of them had ever really fitted his small frame. His mother had always done her best, but- his throat felt tight at the thought of his mother. “Where do I need to go?” 

“I'll show you the way,” Petra's warm brown eyes creased in the sunlight that still shone in through the open curtains, “I don't want you to get lost. Especially when you don't want to be late for Levi.”

-

Stood alone, in front of Levi's desk, Armin felt almost as vulnerable as he had been while running from the Titans. He kept his chin up, his eyes forward, and he balled his hands into fists to try and disguise how badly he was trembling. Levi was writing, the scratching of his pen against paper the only sound in the small office. Eventually Armin went to speak, but Levi held up his hand, a finger extended in a silent command for him to wait. Armin pursed his lips together, and looked over the top of Levi's dark head of hair, to the large window behind him. It had started to rain since he had left his room, droplets of water trickled down the glass, blurring the view of the city. 

“The potion worked, I take it?” Levi's deep voice made Armin jump, his eyes returning quickly to that dark, questioning gaze. 

“The vial,” Armin murmured, “You gave me something to help.” He touched a hand to his stomach, where he had felt that strange rushing sensation the night before. “That was... what was causing that strange sensation?”

“It would have sped up the digestive process, in order to prevent you from feeling full,” Levi pushed aside his papers, his eyes not leaving Armin's face, “Magic. I take it from the dumbfounded expression on your face that you know little about it.”

“I didn't even know it existed, sir,” Armin admitted awkwardly. 

“Of course you didn't,” Levi muttered to himself, rolling his eyes, “I gather that it stopped working towards the end?”

“It did,” Armin couldn't begin to hide his surprise, “How-”

“Magic has its limits,” Levi began, “It can only push you so far. It's both unethical and dangerous to try and exceed the limits of the human body. It can cause irreparable damage. The potion would have worn off when you had eaten more than your body could cope with,” he smirked faintly, “I assumed that the Prince would do something like that. He has good intentions, but he rarely stops to think about what it is he's doing.” 

“Will I be using that every night?” Armin asked nervously, relief flooding him as Levi sternly shook his head. 

“No. I would suggest that it is only used when you are required to eat a lot,” Levi steepled his fingers together, “Such as at a public event. You will be representing Prince Eren's kindness and generosity. Having a large appetite will suggest that he feeds you well, and he feeds you often.” He looked Armin up and down, with a critical eye. “It will admittedly be more impressive when you become... fuller.” 

Armin felt something clench in his chest. He had never been overly fond of his frail figure, but he struggled to cope with the idea of looking different, of becoming fat. He felt conflicted, yet intrigued. it wasn't as if he hadn't enjoyed his evening with Prince Eren, he had enjoyed being fed by him, being touched by him. Colour crept up the side of Armin's neck. Was he that desperate for affection? 

“Sir?” Armin swallowed, “How... full am I to get?” 

“As full as the Prince wants you to get,” Levi looked at Armin over his linked fingers, “I'll tell you this much. The Prince has entrusted me with the task of making you into the perfect, pampered pet,” Levi's lips sounded out each 'p' slowly, purposefully, “I will do what he asks, to the best of my abilities. I have yet to let him down, and that certainly won't start now.” A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his thin lips. “So I would be prepared to become quite... full.”

Levi set his pen down to the side, and began to tidy the small stack of papers in front of him. Armin watched him, taking note of how lean and compact Levi was. Even Eren had a softness to his stomach that suggested he was well fed, but Levi looked as if he kept himself in shape. Something that wasn't all that common in the Kingdom of Sina, as far as Armin could see. A fleeting theory almost came to to the forefront of Armin's mind, but he kept silent as Levi finally looked up once again. 

“You've done well so far,” the strain in Levi's tone suggested he didn't dole out praise easily, “I can appreciate that this is a lot to get used to. I'm going to go through my proposed plan of action with you. If you make any useful suggestions,” Levi snorted softly, “Then we can consider adding them. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” Armin stood to attention, “I understand.”

“It's simple at it's core. You need to eat more,” Levi stated bluntly, “The more food you eat, the more weight you will gain. You will be given three large meals a day, and you are to eat as much as you can. As your appetite increases, along with your stomach capacity, you should eat between meals. Keeping yourself almost constantly full will make your stomach expand,” he lowered his eyes briefly to Armin's midsection, “And that in turn will allow you to eat more. It's a simple but effective cycle.”

“Cause and effect,” Levi raised an eyebrow in surprise as Armin spoke, “I get it, sir.”

“So you do have a brain after all,” Armin thought that Levi almost looked impressed, though he was doing his best to hide it, “Good. You will eat three times a day, and for the time being, you will take breakfast and lunch in your room. You will have dinner with the Prince, in his bedchamber. We will continue this, for say,” his gaze moved skywards, in thought, “Two weeks. I will see how you're progressing, and we'll make adjustments from there.” He pushed his chair backwards, and stood up in one, oddly elegant motion. “Come here. I want to weigh you.” 

Armin had never seen a set of scales as complex as Levi's were. He stood obediently on the base, watching as Levi pulled sets of weights across a thin wire, in an attempt to balance them. Levi furrowed his brow as he moved one weight forward, then back, forwards again, before finally returning it to it's original resting place. He grabbed a worn notepad from a nearby shelf, and flipped it to a fresh page. Armin leant over to try and see what he was writing, but couldn't decipher the scribbled mess of pencilled numbers. 

“One hundred and ten pounds,” Levi eventually announced, pursing his lips together, “Underweight, though that much was obvious. We've a fair way to go.” He gestured for Armin to step down off the scales. “I'll weigh you again in two weeks time. Though I'll consider it a damn miracle if we get you up to a normal weight by then.” He leant across his desk to pull open the top drawer of his desk, and tucked the notebook safely inside. “This project of ours,” Levi looked up across the desk at Armin, “Is not to be discussed with anyone other than Prince Eren or myself. Is that clear?” 

“Yes sir.” Armin had assumed as such. It was complicated, the people would only admire Eren for having a slender companion that grew into a fat pet with his care and guidance, but it could be a different matter all together if they realised he was purposefully fattening him up for appearances sake. Then there was the competition, especially when it came to Prince Jean and Marco. 

“Now then,” Levi dropped back down into his chair, gesturing for Armin to take the seat the opposite side of his desk, “I will go over what will happen at the Gala tonight. As it is your first public appearance, it's vital that you make a good impression.” He regarded Armin critically as the blond sat down. “Your posture is appalling. Sit up straight. Shoulders back. Chin up.” He nodded slowly as Armin attempted to follow his instructions. “Not that stiff. You look as if you've got a pole rammed up your ass.” 

“S-Sir!” Armin exclaimed, appalled on hearing such colourful language from such a revered man. 

“Fortunately you're not bad on the eyes,” Levi continued, as if Armin hadn't spoken, “Unusual colouring. Clear skin. The face is pretty, so we can overlook the nose,” Armin covered his snub nose self-consciously, “You'll stand out. They'll remember you. Which means that when they see you at the next event,- Levi opened his diary, and began to flick forwards through the pages, “- which will be the New Year festivities, you should be somewhat rounder. We have a couple of months to work with.”

“In just two months?” Armin looked down at himself, at his thin wrists and at his protruding hipbones, then moved his gaze to the slight curve of his still bloated stomach, “Is that possible, sir?”

“If it is possible,” Levi pinched at the bridge of his nose, as if only just realising the enormity of the task he had taken upon himself, “If anyone can do it? It's me.”

-

The Gala was unlike anything that Armin had ever seen before. The entire courtyard was lit with strings of lanterns, they glowed brilliantly in the gathering dusk, and a large stage had been erected in the centre. All manner of acts had performed on it, lithe acrobats tumbled fearlessly in sparkling costumes, a powerful mage aimed tongues of flame up towards the sky, and singers in all shapes and sizes had serenaded the audience with sweet songs and haunting melodies. Armin found himself on the edge of his seat, his fingers curled around the iron railing that ran around the edge of the balcony. He, Marco, and the Royal Family had been able to watch the performances from the grand balcony, which gave them the best view possible, and it seemed that many of the acts had been performing solely for them, rather than the hundreds of people crowded around the stage. 

“It's cute how into this you are,” Eren propped his elbows onto the railing next to Armin's hands, “I've been coming to this for as long as I can remember. Some of the people change, but the acts tend to be the same,” he sighed, lowering his head down to rest against his hands, “But, I dunno. It seems better this year.”

“Is it the same every year, your Highness?” Armin pulled his gaze away from the young girl who was singing, “I think that anyone who is brave enough to get up on that stage is wonderful. I could never do anything like that.” 

“Like I said,” Eren shrugged his shoulder, “Same acts, different people. Now and again there's something really impressive that shakes things up a bit. Next year should be pretty different though,” his teeth flashed into a grin, his attention turning fully to Armin, “For you, at least. You've met Marco now, right? What do you think?”

While he hadn't been officially introduced to Marco, Armin had seen him. He could still see him, if he leant past Eren and peered down the row of seating, Marco's bulging stomach stuck out in contrast against the svelte silhouette of Eren's brother, Prince Jean. Marco was a round and cheerful young man, with a great belly that strained against the front of his shirt; Armin's sharp eyes had noticed that Marco wore an outfit very similar to his own, though he wore shades of green instead of blue, and his clothes were several sizes larger. He tried to picture himself filling out Marco's clothes only to shiver, unable to say if he was keen on the idea or not. 

“He seems very kind,” Armin noted softly, recalling how the freckled boy had waved at him across the balcony before being coaxed to sit down, “He looks very comfortable, your Highness.”

“Comfortable,” Eren repeated in amusement, “I like that. He does look pretty comfortable, huh? Like he's got a pillow shoved under his top.”

A round of applause from below pulled their attention away from Marco, and on to the young girl who had just finished singing for them. Armin watched in awe as she tilted her head up towards the balcony, curtseying elegantly despite her plump build. She had to be his age or younger, Armin guessed, and already she was far more comfortable looking than him. Her eyes shone as she turned to skip out of the spotlight, her brightly coloured form disappearing into the tightly packed audience surrounding the stage. 

“So this time next year,” Eren began, nodding in Marco's direction, “You might end up looking pretty comfortable too. Or at least, more comfortable than you are now.” He leant over to rub his finger against Armin's protruding hipbone. “You really are tiny. You always been like this?”

“For as long as I can remember, your Highness,” Armin recoiled slightly from Eren's probing finger, “Though my grandfather told me I was chubbier as a child. He always seemed to find it amusing,” a lump rose briefly in his throat at the thought of his beloved grandfather, and he forced himself to swallow, “I... a-also may have lost some weight while travelling here.”

“You don't talk much about the Outside,” Eren commented quietly, tilting his head to meet Armin's gaze, “Then again, I guess I've never really asked. Do you want to talk about it? I mean,” he lowered his voice, “Did you see a Titan?” 

Armin stiffened. He had seen a Titan, he had seen an entire group of Titans tearing his village apart. He had seen those towering monsters crush people underfoot, and they had been the lucky ones. Other villagers had been picked up and torn apart, with fingers the size of tree trunks or rows of yellowing teeth. Children screamed and women wept as the menfolk of the village had tried, and failed, hold the Titans back with fishing spears and whaling harpoons; they barely scratched even the smaller Titans. Armin felt an icy chill soak his back, despite the burning brazier just feet away from him, and wrapped his arms slowly about himself. 

“I did,” Armin murmured, “Your Highness.”

“Oh,” Eren watched Armin for a long moment, his green eyes flickering in the firelight, “So, uhh, you hungry? It won't be much longer until the food comes out. Maybe another act or two. We eat down there with everyone else,” he gestured down into the courtyard, now that he really looked, Armin could see several long tables placed amongst the crowd, some of whom had already sat down, “That table on the far end is where we'll be sitting, the one facing all the others. My parents take the two chairs in the centre,” if Armin squinted, he could just make out that two of the chairs had taller backs than the rest, “Me and Jean sit on dad's side. You and Marco'll be sitting on mum's.”

“I don't get to sit with you, your Highness?” Armin couldn't quite keep the disappointment out of his voice. 

“Sorry,” Eren raked a hand back through his hair, “It's something about the sons of the King sitting on his right hand side. It's been that way ever since were little. But at least you get to sit at the Royal table, right? We get served first and everything, imagine being stuck down at the far end, watching everyone else get their food before you.” He groaned as a group of musicians took to the stage, each one with an instrument in tow. “I'm kind of hungry now. I hope that this is the last act.”

Armin blushed as his stomach growled in agreement, though he was cheered up on getting to hear Eren's laugh once again.

-

By the time they had been seated at the Royal table, Armin's stomach was churning underneath his shirt. As the Royal table was designed to face out towards the crowd, he could feel hundreds of pairs of eyes on him, staring openly at the Outsider sat amongst the Royals. He could even see a few people, who were sat only feet away, looking between him and the rotund Marco, making not-so-quiet comparisons between their drastically different figures. Armin ducked his gaze down to the covered dish in front of him, able to see his reflection in the polished metal dome.

“Don't let it get to you,” Marco patted Armin's arm reassuringly, “You'll get used to it. It's only because you look so exotic, you know?” Armin smiled weakly in response, and Marco's own perpetual smile grew even warmer. “I've never seen eyes as blue as yours before. I think that I'd end up staring at you too, even if I did feel bad about it.”

“Th-thank you,” Armin lowered his head shyly in response, “Though I don't feel as if I'll ever get used to this.” 

“I did,” Marco pointed out, “And I'm just a simple farmer's son. People get curious, but then they get used to you, and let you be, for the most part.” His fingers hovered near the handle of the shining dish cover in front of him, as if he were itching to see what was underneath. “Plus all they want to see me do is eat, and I do that really well, if I don't say so myself.” 

The crowd fell silent as the King rose to make a short speech, Armin found himself more focused on Marco's profile in the light of the lanterns hanging above them. Marco's shoulders were narrow but strong, but his upper arms were soft. He had undone his jacket in preparation for the feast, the great curve of his belly stuck out between the two halves. His stomach was almost completely round, as if he had swallowed a balloon, and it rose and fell with each gentle breath. It was mesmerising, Armin couldn't bring himself to look away. Marco looked so content, so peaceful, and yet he was the first to whip the cover from his dish the moment the King allowed it, which sent a ripple of laughter through their audience.

“C'mon, it's time to eat,” Marco took up his knife and fork, eyeing the large pile of meat and potatoes in front of him with shining eyes, “You've got to try this, Armin. They're amazing at the best of times, but they really go all out for special occasions like this.” He began slicing off a section of beef with gusto, coming close to dislodging a couple of precariously stacked potatoes in his eagerness. 

Armin lifted the lid from his own dish. His meal was very similar to Marco's own, slices of beef were spread over one section of the plate, carefully drizzled with three thick lines of gravy. A pile of roasted potatoes covered the other half, stacked two or three high in places. Armin lowered the domed dish lid onto the tablecloth, as Marco had done, and wordlessly took up his fork. The food looked amazing, and it smelled even better. He was close to starving, his bowl of porridge felt as if it had been a very long time ago. He stabbed his fork down into one of the large roast potatoes, coated it into a pool of gravy, and took a large bite out of it. 

Armin chewed slowly, savouring the delightful contrast between the crispy potato skin, and the soft, fluffy innards. He took another bite once he had swallowed, and lowered his fork to help himself to another potato. He could still feel people staring at him, but he did his best to ignore it, just as Marco had suggested. He cut off a sliver of meat next, and timidly nibbled on the end. The explosion of flavour took him by surprise, it was unlike anything he had ever tasted before, and he eagerly ate the rest of the slice. 

“You're keeping up pretty well,” Marco commented as he received his second plate of food, Armin himself was still working doggedly through his pile of roast potatoes, “For someone so small, that is.” Armin nodded as he swallowed a mouthful of roast potato, feeling a little guilty for deceiving him. Levi's potion had been working effortlessly throughout the meal, digesting Armin's food the moment he felt even the slightest bit full. He felt the familiar rushing sensation inside of him as he was handed a second plate by the impressed looking serving girl, and eagerly tucked into a fresh pile of potatoes.

“I'm pretty hungry,” Armin admitted between potatoes, “I've not eaten since breakf-, no, I suppose it was closer to lunch time. Petra said that his Highness wanted me to let me sleep in.” He found himself smiling. “That was nice of him.”

“I think Prince Eren is really taken with you,” Marco agreed, taking a small pot of horseradish from the table, dabbing it thickly onto one side of his plate, “I've never seen him like this with anyone. He's friendly enough to me, even if he and Prince Jean are always at one another's throats, but he really seems to have a special interest in you.”

“You're close with Prince Jean,” Armin looked across at Marco, pausing with half a roast potato speared on the end of his fork, “I've not spoken with him yet, but he seems-” he trailed off, unable to put his feelings into words, or at least, words that wouldn't cause great offence. 

“He does come across as kind of abrasive,” Marco smiled to himself, “He's stubborn to a fault, has a temper, and can be pretty narrow minded. But he's also kind, he's always trying his best, and he's thoughtful. He's done a lot for me since I've been here, and he cares about me. He cares about Eren too,” he added in a whisper, “But don't say anything to either one of them. It's a matter of pride, you see.”

The potion lost it's effectiveness part way through Armin's second plateful of food, while Marco effortlessly ate his way through three more; Armin suspected that it would have been four had dessert not been announced. Marco grinned sheepishly at Armin as he wiped at his mouth with a napkin, his stomach had rounded out to the point where a couple of his shirt buttons looked as if they were struggling to stay put. The serving staff bustled around them, removing the dirtied plates and dish covers from the table, and Armin gingerly leant back in his seat. 

He ran his fingertips over the slight bulge of his stomach, quietly amazed at how pronounced it had become. He was almost completely full, and there was a wonderful warm and heavy sensation lingering deep inside of him. The waistband of his well fitted trousers were snug against his side, they had been a little loose before he had started eating. He smiled to himself, despite his mixed feelings about the entire situation, he felt a wonderful sense of pride about this small achievement. Even if he had been aided by Levi's potion. 

Armin tilted his head back, and felt his heart skip a beat as he met Eren's curious gaze. 

“I think that I might have overdone it slightly,” Marco admitted, patting the side of his stomach, “You might show me up when it comes to dessert.” This was enough to tug Armin's attention away from Eren, his eyes widening as he took in Marco's playful smile. “You heard me.”

“I had to stop eating so that I would have room for dessert,” Armin confessed, his small shoulders slumping, “I'm worried that I won't even manage that.” 

Despite his concerns, his stuffed stomach was almost forgotten as a generous slice of chocolate cheesecake was placed down in front of him. Armin picked up his dessert fork with trembling fingers, his mouth watering in anticipation. Cheesecake had been a rare treat at home, their dairy situation had been dire; most of their milk had gone to growing children, the rest to their shaking elders. Only now and again was there enough for something a little more decadent. 

Armin carefully sliced into the cheesecake, coaxed a piece up onto the flat of his fork, and popped it into his mouth. He had never tasted anything quite so delicious before, the sweetness of the chocolate was complemented by the buttery biscuit base, and the filling was creamy yet feather light. He swallowed, staunchly ignoring the creak of his stomach, and immediately gathered up another forkful. He ate quickly, barely pausing between bites, and only faltered when a second piece was placed in front of him. 

His sides were starting to ache now, and his waistband pulled tightly the rise of his bloated belly. Armin ploughed determinedly onwards, though he made his way through his second piece of cheesecake at a far slower pace. His stomach was throbbing now, each chocolatey mouthful made it round out just a little more, and it was a genuine struggle to lick the last smattering of crumbs and filling from his fork. He was just about to set his fork down when yet another piece of cheesecake appeared before him, this time pushed across the start white tablecloth by a mischievous Marco. 

“I couldn't possibly manage a third slice,” Marco rubbed his hand over the bulge of his stomach, his shirt was pulled so snugly against his skin that Armin swore he could see a smattering of freckles through the fabric, “You look like you could, though.” 

“I'm full,” Armin whimpered, though he made no move to lower his fork in defeat, “I'm afraid I might burst if I try... but it did taste so nice.”

“What if I helped?” Armin gasped as a pair of hands slid around his waist from behind, their warmth seeping through Armin's shirt to his own skin, “You looked as if you were enjoying yourself,” Eren murmured into the shell of Armin's ear, his fingertips pressing lightly against his taut skin, “It'd be a shame if you missed out on having another slice.” 

“Y-Your Highness?” Armin's breath caught in his throat as Eren began to gently massage his overstuffed stomach, even the smallest brush against his tight, sensitive skin sent a wave of pleasure through him. He found himself grateful that Eren's actions were hidden from view by the long tablecloth, though he felt his cheeks growing warm as Eren pressed up against his back. 

“Go on,” Eren encouraged, his chin resting down against Armin's shoulder, his hair tickling against his throat, “Just one tiny slice more. You can do it.”

The remaining slice of cheesecake was far from tiny, if anything it looked as if it were slightly larger than average. Armin whimpered quietly as Eren began to stroke over his front, his fingers splaying out against the curve of his bloated belly. Armin tried a smaller bite of cheesecake first, hoping it would be easier on his packed stomach. A dull twinge of pain flickered down his side, but it was quickly alleviated by the palm of Eren's hand. Armin took another, larger mouthful, and swore that he could feel his stomach stretching, trying to contain yet even more cheesecake. 

With Eren's encouraging whispers in his ear, and his hands rubbing slow circles against his heavy stomach, Armin was only just able to eat the very last blob of cheesecake. He threw down his fork with a clatter of metal against china, before anyone could challenge him to eat anything else, and sank back against his chair, against Eren's shoulders. His stomach protruded out from his small frame, like an expectant mother a few months into pregnancy. It was solid, even Eren's probing fingers weren't able to press too deeply against the taut skin, and any attempt to do so sent shivers down Armin's spine. 

“Consider me beaten,” Marco declared cheerfully, his eyes twinkling as he looked across at Armin, “What did I tell you? I knew you could manage a third slice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is admittedly a little disjointed; it went through many drafts.


	3. Chapter 3

_Armin dreamt of home. Of the quiet little fishing village, nestled by the shoreline. He could taste the salty air on his lips, he could hear the gentle ebb and flow of the ocean waves, the same sound that had lulled him to sleep for as long as he could remember. He could see the endless blue water stretching out for miles beyond the horizon, flecked with white foam and sparkling in the sunlight. He could see the fishing boats bobbing amongst the waves, he could see his grandfather's boat with it's bright red hull, and he could see the faint silhouettes of his father and grandfather on board, their edges blurred in the brilliant sunshine. He squinted, trying to bring them into focus, but they continued to fade out of sight._

_Children were playing down on the beach, shrieking as they ran in and out of the cold water. Mothers were sat higher on the sand, one eye on their children, the other on their work. Some knitted, others worked in groups on heavily knotted fishing nets. Those sat up on the sea wall were gutting fish with a practised ease, they didn't need even look as they deftly slid their knife through the belly of the fish, depositing the innards in the bowl at their feet with a splat._

_Armin's stomach turned at the smell. He had never taken to fish when they hadn't been thoroughly cooked first. It had earned him no end of scorn in a village were any able bodied male became a fisherman almost as soon as they were able to walk, those who didn't worked on the small farm nestled next to the village. Armin didn't have the build or the stamina for either._

_He could see her sat with the other mothers. Her hair shone golden in the sunlight, her delicate fingers worked effortlessly to pull her section of netting into knots. She sang as she worked, her voice a lilting melody on the ocean breeze. Armin closed his eyes. He knew that song, the lullaby that had been passed down through the generations of their small family. The song she had sung to him every night when he had been little. He couldn't remember when she had stopped singing to him._

_“Mother,” Armin called out to her, sliding off the sea wall and onto the sand, “Mother!” She didn't look up from her work, and her singing didn't falter. Armin's feet kept sinking into the soft sand as he tried to walk towards her, it felt as if she were being pulled further away from him with each step that he took. He tried to break into a run, but he only sank deeper into the sand. Armin gritted his teeth as he slogged onwards, gripping his knees to force his way down the beach, towards his mother's back._

_Suddenly, the singing stopped. Armin froze in place, gazing at the back of his mother's head. The blond strands were matted with blood, more red stains bloomed against the back of her dress. She turned, her head lolling lifelessly against her shoulder, her eyes dark, impossibly dark. Then she fell, slumping lifelessly onto the sand. The sand was drenched in her blood, the metallic tang of it overpowered the salty air. Armin felt the bile rising in the back of his throat as he tried to step backwards, tried to turn away. But no matter which way he turned, there she was, dead and bloodied at his feet._

_Then a lone footstep landed behind him. A large, shuddering footstep, one that shook the ground underneath him._

“Mother!” Armin gasped as he sat up in bed. It took him a moment to realise where he was, he gasped for breath as he looked around at his room. A grey light was filtering in through the window, and the roaring fire had been reduced to a pile of gently glowing embers. Armin sank back down against his pillows, sweat glimmering across his pale skin. The lingering remnants of his dream haunted him. His own subconscious had taken one of his happier memories of home, and had combined it with the gut wrenching memory of finding his mother's corpse. Armin dug the heels of his palms down against his eyes until he saw stars, trying to wipe that awful image from his mind. 

He was safe, Armin had to remind himself. The Kingdom of Sina was so well defended against Titans that they couldn't even approach the walls. And he was tucked safely away in the very heart of the kingdom, inside the heavily guarded castle itself. As long as he did whatever he was asked of, he was safe. Armin lowered a hand underneath the covers, his fingertips brushing against his stomach. It had once again gone down overnight, and it felt even softer than it had done before. He prodded his fingertips against the warm, pliable flesh, the loose material of his pyjama shirt brushing against the back of his hand. He found his thoughts drifting away from his nightmare, and onto other things. 

Armin lifted the edge of his covers with one hand, squinting down into the semi-darkness at his midsection. Would his oversized pyjama shirt one day become too small for him? A squirm of pleasure radiated through him as he pictured the soft flannel stretched over a bulging stomach, the buttons struggling to stay closed against the swell of flesh. His pyjama bottoms would give up, and would roll underneath his belly, making it protrude outwards all the further. Armin gasped at the rush of excitement that rushed down his spine, that pulled at his groin. Just the thought of being bigger was making him giddy, and more importantly, was keeping his mind off his dream.

He sat up, and looked around at the pile of pillows he had been provided with. He pulled one of the smaller ones out, and slipped it underneath his shirt. While the cushion created a pleasant bulge at his midsection, it wasn't enough, Armin wanted to feel the pyjama shirt pulled to it's very limits. It would help him prepare for the future, he insisted as he pulled out the first cushion, and looked for a larger one. The other part of his mind was tingling with excitement as he pushed a considerably plumper pillow up his shirt. 

This time it was almost perfect. The pillow pressed tightly against Armin's stomach, and caused the fabric of his pyjama shirt to pull against the small of his back. The shape it created was round and smooth, and it felt heavy as Armin wrapped his arms about it. The pillow made him look even bigger than he did after a good meal, without the mild pain and discomfort that came with it. Armin led back down underneath the covers, turning on his side so that his 'belly' could settle down next to him. It felt comforting to feel the bulge of it underneath his arms, and Armin hugged it tighter. He wished that he could feel rolls of warm fat instead of the stiff pillow, he wanted to feel the fullness of a large belly from the inside and the outside. 

Armin could only assume, as the reassuring presence of his 'belly' lulled him back to sleep, that he was more on board with being fattened up than he realised. 

_When Armin woke up, he felt an unfamiliar heaviness pulling at his stomach. He blearily groped underneath his pyjama shirt to pull out the cushion he had stuffed under there, only to freeze on feeling a warm roll of fat instead. He sat up, kicked his blankets away, and stared down at the enormous belly straining against the buttons of his shirt. Armin ran his fingers down his sides as he exhaled, his stomach billowing out to fill every last inch of space that his pyjama shirt offered. He was round, far bigger than he had been with the pillow in place. He tried to unfasten the struggling shirt buttons, trying to look at his new stomach for himself, but for some reason, they stubbornly kept themselves in place._

_“You're not fat enough yet,” Levi remarked bluntly from the side of Armin's bed, his arms folded across his chest, “Must I do everything for you?” He leant over to prod at Armin's side with a bony finger. “The only way out of that shirt is to break your way out of it. You are much too small.”_

_Armin felt something pulsate through him. Levi's pale lips twitched into a smirk as he stepped away. Armin felt an immense pressure build in the pit of his stomach, and it began to spread. As it did, Armin realised that his belly was slowly growing bigger. A button pinged open as his stomach rounded out, becoming heavier with each passing second. The weight of it pinned Armin back against the mattress, he felt another button give way, the sides of his pyjama shirt falling open either side of his growing gut. It continued to billow upwards, a taut and pale dome of fat._

_“My you are becoming very round,” Levi's hand ghosted across Armin's sensitive naval, “Very full. Very fat.”_

_Armin whimpered as the pressure increased, he felt so helplessly full, unable to move underneath the weight of his own stomach. He looked as if he were approaching the final month of pregnancy, then he looked as if he was overdue. A wicked look from Levi saw Armin's stomach surge forwards, breaking off the last few buttons with a series of loud pops. Now he looked as if he were pregnant with twins, and rapidly approaching his due date. Armin's fingers trembled as he touched the warm side of his stomach, it rose and fell in time with his startled breathing._

_Finally, with a quiver of Armin's pale flab, the growing stopped. Armin fought for breath, unable to look away from his enormous stomach. He tried to sit up again, but his arms were too weak. He could only lie there helplessly as Levi circled the bed, nodding approvingly at his bloated stomach. Levi reached out once or twice to poke at the taut fat, sending ripples of pleasure throughout Armin's body. He moaned, writhing a little against the mattress. He felt so full and heavy, so helpless to each little prod from Levi, if only it was the Prince touching him like that._

_“You gotta be one of the most pampered pets in all of Sina,” suddenly Eren's hands were kneading against Armin's side, his knuckles sinking into the soft fat, “I mean just look at you. You're so plump and fat,” he leant his full weight down against Armin's belly, sending a wave of pure ecstasy through the blond, “So spoilt. Isn't that right?”_

_“Yes,” Armin found himself gasping, the pressure building as Eren draped his body over his own, “Y-Yes your Highness.”_

_Eren's face was just inches away from his own, his eyes darker than Armin had ever seen them before. The Prince closed the gap between them, his lips hovering inches from Armin's own. Armin swallowed, and forced himself to meet that brilliant, burning gaze. He felt Eren's hand stroke down over the large curve of his stomach, and gasped as he suddenly pinched at a roll of flab._

_“You're so fat,” Eren murmured lowly, his breath warm against Armin's shaking lower lip, “So fat and so spoilt, aren't you, Armin?”_

“Armin?” 

Armin's eyes flew open, only to meet Eren's concerned gaze. For a moment he could only stare at the young Prince's face, his dream still so fresh in his mind. 

“Were you having a nightmare?” Eren gently asked, “I heard you moving around a lot and making noises. I thought I heard you cry out earlier, but then you went all quiet again.” 

“Y-yes,” Armin felt his cheeks turn red as he sat up, Eren assuming that he was having a bad dream rather than an incredibly strange and sensual dream was far less embarrassing, “I was dreaming of home. When... the Titans came.” He rubbed his hands over his eyes, at least he wasn't technically lying to the young Prince; he was just omitting part of the truth.

“Don't feel embarrassed for having a nightmare,” Eren clearly misunderstood the flush that had spread across Armin's cheeks, “I still get them too. And you've probably seen way more worse things than I ever will.” He sat down on the edge of Armin's bed, his legs of his silk pyjama bottoms hitched up past his knees. His smile twitched into a grin, and he reached out to brush his fingers against the bulge of Armin's stomach. “So, uh, what's this?”

“What?” For one heart stopping moment, Armin thought that his dream had been real, that he had somehow grown fatter overnight. But then the cloud of confusion fogging his mind began to clear, and his face grew warmer as he remembered the pillow he had pushed up underneath his pyjama shirt. “Oh, o-oh this? It's um... practise.” 

“Practise,” Eren repeated, his grin widening, “You're adorable, you know that? I think it suits you,” he prodded at the cushion, and Armin found himself desperately wishing that it was his real stomach underneath there, “You're pretty cute already, but you're gonna look even cuter when you get pudgier. When you won't even be able to fit a pillow under there with you.”

“I'm sorry if I disturbed you, your Highness-” Armin began, but found himself cut off as Eren shook his head. 

“Don't you ever be sorry for having a bad dream,” he interrupted fiercely, “Got it? Who knows what you saw out there? Levi hardly ever talks about the Outside, and he's Levi.”

Suddenly, it all fell into place. Armin's eyes widened as Eren winced and hit himself lightly in the forehead. Of course Levi wasn't from Sina, Armin's mind raced through the few details he knew about the man. That he was perhaps the only slender person in the entire castle, that he was lithe and muscled while others were soft and plump. That he was taking an interest in an Outsider for more than his Outsider status; because he knew what it was like to come from the Outside. Somehow, knowing that Levi was an Outsider too, made the man seem a little less formidable.

“Oh shit I shouldn't have told you that,” Eren groaned as he threw his hands over his face, “Levi's gonna smack me one if he finds out. He hates people knowing, you know? He'll hate it even more if he knows that you know. What's even worse is that he said he knew I was going to blab to someone, and he was right!”

“Oh it's okay,” Armin tried to reassure the Prince, though his heart was still racing from the revelation, “Really. I won't say a word, I promise.” He reached out, his pale fingers brushing against the tanned skin of Eren's wrist. “Your Highness?” When that got no response, he held his breath. “Eren?” 

“You know,” Eren slowly spread his fingers to reveal his eyes, “I like it when you say my name. You got this... accent, sort of. Must be from where you're from.” He lowered his hands completely, his grin sliding effortlessly back into place. “I like it. Think you can call me that over 'Your Highness' all the time? I mean, when it's just you and me.”

“If you'd like me to,” Armin found himself starting to say 'Your Highness', but quickly corrected himself, “Eren.” The warmth that filled Eren's expression took his breath away. 

“Thanks for not ratting me out to Levi,” Eren inched his way across the mattress, so that he was sat next to Armin, “I mean it when I say he'll kick my ass. He isn't afraid to hold back. That's the whole reason dad put him in charge of me. He's always been the only one who won't take any crap from me, even if I am a Prince.” His arm brushed against Armin's own as he leant forwards to pull the blankets up over them both. “It can get kind of chilly in here unless the fire's going. I'm awful at magic, otherwise I'd try and give it a go.”

A peaceful silence settled between them. Armin found himself looking down at himself and Eren. With the addition of the cushion stuffed underneath his top, his stomach stuck out further than Eren's. He barely surpassed a shiver at the memory of his dream, at the thought that one day his real stomach would protrude out further than Eren's own faint swell of fat. He found himself focusing Eren, on the softness spread around his middle. It was very slight, but very noticeable, the lower buttons of Eren's pyjama top were pulled tightly across it. 

“Still bigger than you,” Eren confirmed on seeing where Armin was looking, “You'll have a fight on your hands over the winter if you want to overtake me. I end up putting on the pounds like crazy because of all of the good food they serve up,” he patted the side of his stomach for emphasis, “Then we start training with Levi in the better weather, and it all falls off again. Except this bit here. This never really goes away.”

“I like it,” Armin admitted shyly. 

“Thanks,” Eren laughed, the rich, warm sound soothing away any remaining embarrassment or fear lingering after Armin's nightmares, “I like it too.”

-

After breakfast, Eren insisted on showing Armin around the castle. 

“You'll know this place like the back of your hand before you know it,” Eren called back reassuringly as he led Armin down yet another hallway, “There's only five floors. You don't have to worry about the ground floor, that's where the kitchens and storage areas are, or the fourth floor, that belongs to my parents. Sort of off-limits unless you're invited, you know?”

“I'm already a little lost,” Armin rubbed at the side of his stomach, his heavy breakfast had left him feeling full and bloated, “What about the other floors?” 

“Well the first floor has the throne room, the ball room, the dining room and a couple of parlours,” Eren counted the rooms off on his fingers, “Again, you don't have to really worry about them. You're allowed down there, but it'll be pretty boring unless there's an event going on. The second floor has a whole bunch of lounges and sitting areas, there's a huge sun room at the back of the castle, and then there's the library.” 

“Levi mentioned the library,” Armin attempted to sound casual, but he was unable to hide how eager he truly was when it came to books, “Will we be able to see it?”

“Course we can,” Eren grinned over his shoulder at Armin, and slowed his pace on seeing that the blond was struggling to keep up, “It's all part of the tour. The third floor is where we sleep. Jean and Marco sleep there too. Levi's got his office and his quarters in the North tower,” Eren looked upwards, mouthing directions to himself as he pointed with his finger, “Staff live in the East and West towers. Guests go in the South tower. Again, unless Levi wants to see you, you probably won't end up going there.”

“Where are we headed now?” Armin asked as Eren led him down a corridor, one wall lined with beautiful stained glass windows. Multi-coloured shadows were cast across the flagstones, and Eren walked through them without so much as a second glance. Armin slowed down a little to drink in the details, the stained glass appeared to be telling a story with simple, but effective images. It seemed to involve two castles joining together as one, one depicted with cogs and pulleys, the other gleaming with what appeared to be magic. 

“The sun room,” Eren stopped on seeing that Armin had fallen behind, “I figure we can have lunch there. Later,” he added hastily, on seeing the startled look that crossed Armin's face, “We'll have lunch bought to us later.” His eyes fell to Armin's rounded stomach as the blond drew closer. “I mean it doesn't look like you can fit much more in there just yet.”

“Not yet,” Armin admitted sheepishly, while he wasn't quite as full as he had been at the Gala, his bloated stomach was visible underneath his shirt, “I don't think I've ever felt so consistently full before.” Levi's plan for him was in full effect, Armin realised with a jolt. He had spent the majority of his time at the castle with his stomach stuffed to it's very limits, just as the mage had suggested. 

“Keep it up and you won't need that pillow of yours,” Eren suggested teasingly, leading Armin up a couple of steps, “Jean and Marco might end up having lunch with us,” Eren added as he pushed open the door to the sun room, gesturing for Armin to go inside in front of him, “But for now it'll be just you and me. Go on, take a look.”

As Armin stepped into the sun room, he was temporarily blinded by the sunlight streaming in through the windows. He squinted against the harsh glare, and as the spots started to fade before his eyes, he could start to pick out the finer details of the room. One rounded wall was nothing but windows, and curved planes of glass formed a dome-like ceiling above their heads. Two comfortable looking sofas were positioned in front of the glass wall, looking out over a stunning view of the castle gardens. A dining table was set up on the right side of the room, the polished wood gleaming in the light.

“It's so bright,” Armin gasped, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes, “It's so warm in here.” 

“It's great when it gets a little colder outside,” Eren explained as he moved past Armin, gesturing for him to follow him over to one of the sofas, “As long as the sun's out, the room warms up. Failing that, there's a heating system under the floorboards. So we turn that on if it's cloudy or snowing out.” He plopped himself down onto the sofa, and grinned as Armin gingerly sat next to him.

“I can't get over how big the castle is,” Armin found himself looking out at the castle gardens, at the lush green lawns and twisting gravel paths, “It just seems to go on forever, and then there's the city. No matter where I look, there's something in the distance.” 

“Sina is huge,” Eren leant forwards, resting his elbows down against his knees, “I've only ever been to the outer wall once or twice in my life. I was hoping to see a Titan, but the guards said that they don't even come within fifty miles of the walls now. Something to do with the enchantments that Levi put in place.” Eren tilted his head to look over at Armin. “Ahh... sorry. I didn't think. I guess you've seen enough of Titans?”

“I have,” Armin admitted quietly, his nightmare was still painfully fresh in his mind, “I've grown up knowing about the Titans. Knowing that it was only a matter of time before they found us. For years and years they stayed away for some reason. We think they were afraid of the ocean, so they kept their distance. The last time they came too close, before I was born, the entire village went out to sea until the Titans went away again. That was the plan if they ever came too close again.”

“What happened?” Eren reached out to place his hand against Armin's, “You don't have to say if you don't want to.”

“An abnormal came,” Armin swallowed thickly at the memory of that awful, lumbering giant, “He was fast. He came in the night, the people on watch barely had chance to warn us before they were crushed. Everyone ran to the boats to try and escape, and that's when the rest of them came.”

“The other Titans got over their fear of the water, huh?” Eren winced.

“I think so,” Armin nodded, a small frown tugging at the corner of his lips, “Or they saw the abnormal and they followed him on some sort of basic instinct. A few people managed to push boats out, but the abnormal went into the water and got them. The rest of the village tried to run away from him, and ended up coming face to face with a... whole group of Titans.” 

“I've read that even just two or three Titans can wipe out a settlement,” Eren ran the pad of his thumb over the back of Armin's hand, “Let alone a whole bunch of them. How did you escape? I mean, no offence, but you're so-” he trailed off as words failed him.

“So weak?” Armin supplied, but his smile was genuine, “So fragile? So little? The short answer is that I got lucky. I was running when the wall of a house partially collapsed on me-”

“-doesn't sound all that lucky to me,” Eren interjected, his eyebrows raised, “Go on?”

“- so I ended up hidden by the rubble,” Armin finished, “I must have passed out. The next thing I knew it was morning. It was quiet. Really quiet.” He turned his hand underneath Eren's own, his fingertips brushing against his. “I fought my way out and-” he felt his throat close up, he couldn't even bear to think of the blood soaked shoreline he had woken up to, let alone talk about it.

“And you ran?” Eren prompted gently. Armin shot him a grateful look, and nodded. 

“I ran. Grandfather always told me stories about the Kingdom of Sina. He said that it was the only place that was really safe from Titans,” Armin let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding, “He had a map. I was able to find it, to gather a few supplies. I couldn't find any other survivors,” his gaze fell to his knees, “I... wasn't as thorough as I could have been, but since I couldn't see any Titans, I knew I had to leave as soon as I could.”

“Surviving an attack is one thing, but making it across the plains?” Eren shook his head, “How?”

“I kept to the river. I was going off my theory that Titans still didn't like water. In addition, I'd leave less tracks to follow,” Armin had only finished his journey just under a week ago, it felt a whole other world away from his pampered life at the castle, “The river joined one of the larger rivers that runs through the kingdom. I followed it up until the wall, and then I followed that until the scouting regiment found me.”

“You really have gone through a lot,” Eren touched the underside of Armin's chin with his finger, coaxing the blond to look up at him, “You know that you're not weak, right? You've got to be one of the strongest people I know if you managed to get through something like that.” 

They spent a quiet morning together in the sun room, basking in the sunlight and talking about anything that came to mind. Jean and Marco came in at around midday, and lunch arrived shortly afterwards; a generous spread of meats, cheeses, and several thick slices of freshly baked bread. Armin felt a genuine pang of hunger as he took his seat opposite Marco. His bloated stomach had deflated considerably throughout the morning, much to Armin's relief; he had felt a little uncomfortable. 

“You look a little tired,” Marco noted as he looked across the table at Armin, “Not sleeping well?” 

“Not really,” Armin took a helping of soft cheese to spread it on a thick slice of bread, “I think that I'm still getting used to being here.” While Marco had been nothing but kind to him, he didn't quite feel comfortable enough to tell him about his nightmares. He bit into his piece of bread, it was still delightfully warm from the oven. 

“I couldn't believe my luck the first night I slept here,” Marco was busy making an enormous sandwich for himself, packed with alternating layers of meat and cheese, “Back home my mattress was all lumpy and uneven, and my sister kept stealing the good blankets and pillows for herself. But here? I had a huge bed, all to myself, with all of the good pillows I could hope for.”

“You have a sister?” Armin smiled as Marco took a large bite out of his sandwich, and waited patiently for him to swallow before he could respond. 

“Yeah!” Marco's freckled face lit up, “Her name is Ymir. She's a little older than me, and thinks that gives her the right to hog everything. I mean I love it here,” his expression softened, “But I do miss my family sometimes. I only get to see them a couple of times a year. They live inside Wall Maria, near the Trost District. That means nothing to you, right?”

“Sorry,” Armin nibbled at the edge of his piece of bread, the cheese had started to melt slightly against the still-warm bread, “I know you mean near the outer most wall, though. You only go home twice a year?” 

“It's a really long journey,” Marco plucked a stray piece of cheese that was hanging out of his sandwich, “Takes a couple of days. When i go there, I stay for a couple of weeks. In fact we're going again at the end of the month, for the winter festival.” 

“We?” Armin paused before taking a bite of bread. 

“Jean, Eren, and me,” Marco confirmed, his brow eyes creasing, “They come with me sometimes, especially if there's an event going on. People who live in the outer districts like it when members of the royal family come out to see them.”

“Because they have little else going on in their lives,” Jean muttered, only to wince as Marco casually elbowed him in the side, “Hey! You know I don't mean your family or anything.”

“You just mean my friends and neighbours,” Marco pointed out, his tone was somehow playful yet a little reprimanding, “We've gone over this, Jean.” 

“You coming?” Jean turned his attention towards Armin, the blond suspected it was to not-so-subtly change the topic, “Eren did invite you, right?” 

“Give me a break, so I forgot!” Eren scowled across the table at Jean, chewing on a thick slice of beef, “You go and make it sound like I don't want him to come or something.” He turned to Armin, and his expression softened. “So you want to come? You'll get to see more of the Kingdom and eat great food. You'll have to put up with Jean, but that's a cross we all have to bear.”

Armin blushed on finding himself at the centre of attention, and busied himself by taking a sip of his drink. He was eager to see more of the Kingdom, and a part of him was curious about the more rural areas; he wondered if they would be similar to the village life he had left behind. He was wary about being so close to the outer most wall, despite knowing that two Princes wouldn't be sent all of the way out there if it wasn't safe. He was even a little curious about Marco's family. 

But, most of all, Armin was surprised on realising that he wanted to go just to be with Eren. 

“If it's okay,” Armin raised his gaze, and managed a small smile, “I'd like to come.”

-

After lunch, Eren finally led Armin to the place he had been most looking forward to seeing; the library. 

The library was enormous, stretching two storeys high. The roof was a dome of coloured glass, in shades of blue and green, with metal ironwork splitting it into sections. A sweeping staircase led up to the second floor, where a highly polished wooden railing lined the walkway that ran around the edge of the room. The walls were lined with bookcases, the shelves stretching up to the ceiling, and a ladder on rails was present on both floors. The lower level had several chairs and couches dotted across the carpeted floor, each with an end table and lamp nearby. 

“The library in the city is bigger,” Eren began dismissively as he stepped inside, “But we've got some rare volumes from the Outside. It's pretty quiet most days, though sometimes me and Jean have our lessons in here. But I doubt our tutor'll mind if you want to sit in here while we work. You're pretty quiet and all.” He looked across to Armin, nudging his shoulder. “Armin?”

Armin could only stare at the rows upon rows of books, their leather bound spines gleaming temptingly in the sunlight that fell through the glass dome. He had never seen so many books in his entire life. His grandfather had owned several books, but they wouldn't have filled so much as a single shelf in the castle library. Most of those books had been about fish and fishing, with only the occasional novel and fairytale, Armin couldn't even begin to comprehend what these books would be about, what wonderful stories and valuable information they would contain. 

“It's amazing,” Armin managed at last, his voice barely above a whisper, “There's just so many books. I'm really allowed to read any that I like?” 

“Of course you can,” Eren gestured to the library as a whole, “Any book that you like. You look like you want to grab the nearest book and start reading,” he added teasingly, on catching the awed look on Armin's face, “Don't let me stop you.”

“Really?” Armin couldn't hold back his smile as he turned to Eren, “Thank you!” He plucked a book from a nearby shelf, and sank down onto one of the couches in front of the lone fireplace. He found himself quickly drawn into the book, which outlined the history and basic physical make up of the typical steam engine. Armin was so absorbed by the paragraph that detailed the argument for using tempered steel in some of the more intricate parts of the engine, that he barely noticed the Prince sitting down next to him. 

“You better learn how to read and eat,” Armin blinked as Eren waved a plate of sweet pastries in front of him, “Levi sent these up. Said he wants you 'grazing'.” As Armin lowered his book, using his finger as a makeshift bookmark, he could just see the end of Sasha's ponytail whip out of sight through the library door. 

“How long have I been reading?” Armin asked in genuine bewilderment, “Have I been ignoring you?” 

“Only an hour or so, and nope,” Eren reassured Armin with his easy going grin, and he held up a pastry from the plate, “I've got some studying to catch up on, so don't mind me. Just make sure you work your way through these, alright? Levi's got expectations, and it's a while until we get lunch.” 

Armin accepted the pastry from Eren, and bit into it as his eyes strayed back to his book. The flaky pastry was sweet and fruity, with a delightful crunch of sugar. Despite being stuffed from lunch, Armin found himself nibbling absent mindedly as he read. His hand seemed to move on it's own accord, reaching down blindly towards the plate to help himself to another pastry. He would then eat it, bite by bite, his eyes not leaving the page for so much as a second. He worked his way through more fruity pastries, pastries saturated with rich chocolate, and a wonderful custard cake that was so delicate it felt as if it were melting on his tongue. He licked his lips to chase away the remnants of sugar, and was genuinely surprised when his grasping hand felt nothing but crumbs and an empty plate. 

His stomach was now bloated out to the size it had done at the Gala. Armin moved his hand to push against the taut skin, his breath catching at the spasm of pain that followed. He sank back gingerly against the couch cushions, ignoring his book in favour of massaging his aching side. It both fascinated and terrified him at how easy it was to eat while reading, he had been so engrossed in his book that he had barely noticed how painfully full he had become. 

“Wow,” Eren whistled lowly on seeing Armin's rounded stomach for himself, his attention easily pulled away from his studies, “I didn't think you'd actually eat them all. You got one hell of a sweet tooth,” he turned to face the blond, and reached out to gently pat the front of his bloated belly, “Doesn't look like you're gonna fit much more in there.” 

“I'm so full,” Armin groaned, his head falling back against the couch cushions, “How could I eat all of those after everything I ate at lunch?” His stomach was taut underneath his fingers, there wasn't any give in the slightest. His the sides of his shirt were pulled tight against his bloated belly, and his waistband was nipping slightly into his side. 

“Well the more you eat, the better, right?” Eren offered cheerfully, he used the palm of his hand to rub reassuring circles over Armin's side, “It'll get better. I promise. One your stomach gets bigger and everything.”

As Armin closed his eyes, and allowed himself to relax underneath Eren's coaxing fingers, he could only hope that the young Prince was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took such a long time!
> 
> The next chapter will be a while too; I'm going away for a couple of weeks. But I will try and get something up before I go. 
> 
> Since the next chapter will have, gasp, actual weight gain.


	4. Chapter 4

Armin's days at the castle fell into a simple routine, one revolving around eating and reading. He was rarely without a book or food in hand, usually both at the same time; due to Levi's insistence that he eat between meals, Armin had quickly learned how to snack on pastries and read at the same time, without missing so much as a single word or crumb of food. Most days he would accompany the Prince, on others he would spend his time in the library, or in the sun lounge with Marco. He gradually got used to being bathed and dressed, though he still felt desperately shy in front of Sasha and Petra. Especially with his slowly changing body. 

His clothes, which had always been well fitting, were starting to become snug. The waistband of his pants pinched against his side, even in the mornings before he had eaten, and they had become a little tighter across his thighs. The lower buttons on his shirts were starting to pull across his stomach, and even appeared to be struggling to stay in their holes towards the end of the day. By evening, when his stomach was heavy and bloated with all of the food he had consumed throughout the day, Armin found himself eager to get back to the privacy of his own bedchamber, just so he could pop open the button of his pants and allow his groaning belly to relax. 

“You're certainly fuller,” Levi remarked with a raised eyebrow as Armin entered his office for his next weigh in, “I can see that for myself. Get up on the scales?”

As Armin stood on the metal base, waiting for Levi to adjust the various weights and complicated looking pulleys, he looked down at himself. He was still thin, all straight lines and lean limbs, but there was a softness present that hadn't been there before. A small layer of fat coated his bones, rounding out his previously jutting hips and collarbones. It seemed to accumulate around his waist, his stomach had gone from being concave, to flat, to sticking out ever-so-slightly in a very short amount of time.

“A hundred and twenty five,” Levi announced, unable to hide his surprise, “Fifteen pounds. That's a pound a day.” He pulled out his notebook from before, and began to jot down some numbers, with rapid scratches of his pencil across the paper, “Impressive. Though I imagine most of that was caused by your body going into starvation mode, temporarily lowering your metabolism.” He stepped back towards his desk, and gestured for Armin to follow him. “You're now just under the average weight for your height.”

“Are we on track, sir?” Armin sat down gingerly in the seat in front of Levi's desk, his stomach was still a little tender from breakfast.

“We certainly are,” Levi hunched over his desk as he continued writing, his dark eyes flickering rapidly across the page, “If you were to continue at this pace, you would be pushing one hundred and seventy pounds by the end of the year.”

“If?” Armin repeated, his brow furrowed. 

“ _If_ ,” Levi looked up from his work, “I believe that your weight gain will slow down, now that you are at an acceptable weight for your height. Your small stature works against you. As it is, we have only filled in the cracks, so to speak. We still have a long way to go. However,” he held up a thin finger, “I hear that you are accompanying the Prince to the farmlands?” 

“To see Marco's family, sir?” Armin nodded, “We're leaving next week. That... isn't going to be a hindrance, is it?” Between Marco telling him stories about his wonderful childhood out in the countryside, and the fact that he would be getting to spend almost all of his time with Eren, Armin was starting to look forward to the trip that would take him outside of the castle. 

“No, quite the opposite,” Levi leant forwards on his desk, resting his sharp elbows down against the pristine surface, “You'll be attending all manner of public events. They hold a number of festivals during mid-winter. Tradition states that it's to appease certain gods and deities,” he snorted softly, “The reality seems to be that it's an excuse to rid themselves of any food and perishables that will not last through the winter. In later years, it's evolved into a chance to impress the royal family.” 

Armin caught on quickly to Levi's way of thinking. “More public appearances. That's the point of all of this, isn't it? To improve Er-... the Prince's standing.” 

“Precisely. But public appearances aside,” Levi leant his chin down against the palm of his hand, “This is a chance for you to gain a considerable amount of weight in a short amount of time. Away from the prying eyes of the castle, and amongst people who aren't as knowledgable about magic. People who will be proud if you leave their hospitality several pounds heavier than you were before, and not question how.”

“You're going to use magic again?” Armin felt his heart leap into his throat, his mind conjuring up memories of his dream with Levi and his rapidly expanding stomach, “I thought it was dangerous to use it too often, sir.”

“What do you take me for?” Levi glowered at Armin as he leant back against his chair, pulling open one of his many desk drawers, “I know what I'm doing, brat. I've been studying magic before you were even born.” He pulled out a small jar of what looked like glass beads, and set them down on the desk between them. “Since I'm unable to accompany you on your trip, I'm wary of you using magic without my presence. So we're going to prepare you here, over the course of the next week.”

Armin squinted at the jar. “Prepare me, sir?”

“There are potions that can speed up your metabolism,” Levi began, “These are used for soldiers, guards, anyone who needs to remain in shape. They can continue to eat what they like, and these potions will help them burn off the excess energy that they've consumed, without so much as lifting a finger. They won't gain so much as a pound, if they don't want to. With the correct application, they can lose weight.”

“So the opposite must exist,” Armin's gaze fell to the jar, the light from Levi's window was shining through the glass, “Potions that will slow your metabolism. That means you'll gain weight easily.”

Levi nodded. “These potions are far more complicated. It's vital that you get the correct dose. These pills,” he touched the lid of the jar, “Are calibrated specifically to you. To gradually slow your metabolism down over the next seven days. I've set the dose high enough for it to remain active during your trip, but your own, natural metabolism will eventually take over again. The human body is incredibly resilient, even when it comes to magic.”

“But if I'm heavier when the magic wears off,” Armin murmured thoughtfully, “Then even my natural metabolism will have slowed down.”

“You really aren't as stupid as you look,” Levi smirked, “Long term use of such potions can cause damage. I believe I've mentioned that before. But by doing it this way, slowly and only for a set amount of time, it allows your own body to fight back, to remain in control. And, depending on the weight you gain while under the effect of the pills, your own metabolism should return a little slower than it is now.” 

Armin exhaled shakily. He understood the science behind it, but the inclusion of magic made him anxious; he knew so little about it. “When will the pills take effect?”

“The pills will start to work almost immediately, but it may not be evident until you have taken the full course,” Levi paused to look Armin up and down, his eyes lingering on the bulge of Armin's stomach, “Hmm.” 

Armin shifted uncomfortably underneath that penetrating stare. “Sir?” 

“You'll be needing new clothes,” Levi flipped his notepad to a fresh page, “I'll have Petra measure you. Given the way that you are-” a smirk tugged at the corner of his pale lips, “-filling out your current clothes, I doubt they will last you much longer. If you continue at the rate that you've been going? I'll be surprised if they last you until the end of the week.”

-

Levi, as always, was infuriatingly correct. 

“I can see why Levi got me to measure you up for some new clothes,” Petra's eyes sparkled teasingly as she patiently guided Armin's formal pants, which had always been a little smaller than his every day trousers, up over his thighs, “It's going to be a bit of a squeeze for you tonight. It's too bad that your new clothes are already packed away.” 

Armin's cheeks burned as Petra eventually got his pants up to his waist. The silk rippled across his fuller thighs and backside, and the swell of his belly stubbornly stuck out through his open fly. The soft sides of his stomach poked over the edge of the waistband, forming a tiny roll of flab. He winced as Petra tried to do his pants up, unable to get the button anywhere close to fitting into it's hole. 

“Suck it in,” Petra patted Armin's stomach affectionately, “We're almost there.” Armin inhaled, his stomach receded, and Petra deftly did up the button of his pants. “Now then, breathe out. _Slowly_.” 

Armin slowly let go of the breath he had been holding. His stomach billowed out like rising dough, fighting momentarily against the fastened front of his pants before spilling out over the top of them. The front of his shirt clung against his steadily expanding belly, Armin was both horrified and fascinated by how much bigger he looked in such ill fitting clothes. By the time he had finished breathing out, letting his stomach return to it's full size, his shirt buttons were clearly struggling to stay in place. 

“You better take it easy on the food tonight,” Petra suggested kindly, helping Armin into his jacket, “I don't think that we can fit much more of you in there right now.” The arms and shoulders of his jacket still fitted comfortably, the upper half of his body had only gotten a little softer, but it was painfully evident that the sides of his jacket would no longer close. Petra only tried the once, before shrugging her slender shoulders in defeat, leaving the two halves to hang either side of Armin's protruding belly. 

“I'm a little nervous,” Armin looked down at the floor between his feet, “Are they certain that they want to have dinner with me?”

Petra tutted, flicking the tip of her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Of course the King and Queen want to have dinner with you. They wouldn't have invited you otherwise,” her hand ghosted underneath Armin's chin, forcing him to look at her, “You have _nothing_ to worry about. It's just a family dinner, they always have one the night before the Princes' travel down to the outer circle. It's mostly tradition, now.”

Armin squirmed as Petra began to smooth down the sides of his shirt. “But I'm not family. I'm nobody.”

“Marco's not family either, and he always attends,” Petra pointed out, her fingers working over a particularly stubborn crease, “Stop worrying! Just think about your trip tomorrow, hm? You're going to have so much fun! It's good for the young Princes to have some time out of the castle, and I think that it'd be good for you, too.”

There was something about Petra's bright smile that eased his nerves, if only a little. Armin managed a small smile, and stood patiently as Petra fussed over his appearance. His clothes were tight, uncomfortably tight. Each breath he took made him feel as if he were going to burst out of his clothes, leaving nothing behind but ruined rags and scraps of silk. He rubbed the palm of his hand across the side of his stomach, he could actually feel the warmth of his own skin through the stretched fabric. 

“You poor thing, you do look a little uncomfortable,” Petra ran her hands over Armin's sides, her eyes down on his bitingly tight waistband, “You don't need to be there for another hour,” she mused, her gaze raising to the wooden clock that ticked solemnly overhead, “More than enough time! Let's get you back out of those pants,” Petra began to fumble with the straining button, her fingers hidden from Armin's view by the slight overhang of his gut; he only knew she had unfastened his pants when they had stopped pinching into his sides. 

“You're still so small,” Petra took a seat, and spread Armin's pants out across the nearby table, “Though you've got a sweet little belly on you, now. You just need clothes that actually fit you. I think we had these fitted back when you first came to the castle.” She hummed to herself as she took out a small pair of scissors from her pocket. She snipped at several sections of the waistband, removing thin triangles of silk from the sides of the pants. “Sit down,” Petra looked up from her work with a smile, “I won't be long.”

Feeling a little vulnerable in just his shirt, jacket and underwear, Armin perched on the edge of his bed. His shirt no longer felt quite as tight, now that a pair of too tight trousers weren't pushing his stomach up against it. He leant forwards to watch Petra work, resting his elbows against his knees. Petra had pulled a pair of Armin's every day pants out of his dresser, and was cutting panels out of the sides. Setting those sections of fabric aside, she took a needle and thread from her breast pocket. 

“Silk's pretty unforgiving when it comes down to it,” Petra began sewing, her pale fingers a blur of activity as she started stitching the black panels of fabric into the sides of the silk pants, “But _this_ material is a lot more flexible. It might not look as pretty, but it's going to feel a lot better.” She worked quickly, with neat, tiny little stitches. Armin's thoughts went to his mother, who had spent countless evenings sewing and knitting in front of the fire. Her stitches had always been ugly and uneven, and while he had teased her about them, Armin's father still wore his mended clothes with a certain about of pride.

“There we go,” Petra announced after a while, holding the altered pants aloft; the two black panels oddly complemented the blue silk, and with the neat stitches, looked as if they had always been designed like that, “Let's get these back on you.”

“Thank you,” Armin stood from the bed, and obediently stepped into the trousers as Petra held them out for him, “You're always so kind to me.”

“It's easy to be kind to a dear little thing like you,” Petra pulled up the pants over Armin's legs, and once again the material caught across his thighs, “But you are very welcome.” She pulled the waistband up over Armin's hips, and smiled in satisfaction as it settled easily around his waist. “You don't even have to breathe in,” Petra effortlessly fastened the front of the pants, “That must feel a lot better.”

“It does,” Armin felt along the altered waistband, while still a little snug about the soft pooch of his belly, there was far more give than there had been before, “That's amazing, Petra.” 

“Don't mention it,” Petra beamed as she stepped back to take an appraising look at Armin, “I think that's you done. I'll take you upstairs now.” 

-

The private dining room couldn't have looked more normal. Armin surreptitiously looked around as he ate, only partially listening to the low hubbub of dinner conversation. The room was small and intimate, and the walls were covered with pale wooden panels. A set of glass doors led out onto a balcony, but remained closed, given the bitter chill of winter in the air. A fire had been lit in the small hearth, sending flickering shadows across the dining table. Shades of violet were present just about everywhere, from the seat cushions, to the curtains pulled neatly either side of the gleaming windows. 

“We're gonna be in for a pretty bad winter,” Marco informed the King between mouthfuls of soup, Armin was taken aback at how casually he could speak to the _King_ of all people, “It's been a warm November. That's never a good sign.”

“I haven't known you to be wrong yet,” the King seemed genuinely interested in what Marco had to say, to the point of neglecting his own food, “You also said something about the holly bushes out in the grounds...?”

“They're full of berries,” Marco nodded, his eyes shining brightly, “I don't know why it happens, but that almost always happens before a hard winter rolls in. Then there's the fact that not all the leaves have fallen from the trees, the birds went south for the winter a lot earlier than usual, and have you seen those halos around the moon?”

Armin smiled at Marco's easy going nature, he made talking to a King look easy. Marco had a unmistakable charismatic air about him, and it was because he was so genuine, Armin realised. Marco wasn't talking to the King out of obligation or duty, or even to impress anyone; Marco was talking to the King because he wanted to. What was even more impressive was that the King was listening with rapt attention. Whether he knew it or not, some of Marco's genuine nature had rubbed off on the King himself, even if it was just temporarily. 

“Armin knows what I'm talking about,” Armin looked over in surprise on hearing his name, almost dropping his spoon back into his bowl, “He's a country boy like me.” Marco winked reassuringly across the table at him, his freckles looked even more prominent in the dancing firelight. 

“Is that so?” the King turned his attention to Armin, his eyes were hard to read behind the glint of his glasses, “What do you make of this coming winter, then?” 

Armin's shoulders stiffened momentarily in surprise. “I think I agree with him, your Majesty. Towards the end of summer, there was a lot of fog coming in off the sea. My grandfather always said,” a lump rose in his throat, “He said that it meant that the coming winter would be a harsh one.” Summer, in his village by the sea, seemed as if it had been years ago, rather than just a few months. It almost felt like another lifetime ago. 

“There's no need for you to be so formal,” the King reminded him, not unkindly, “I still find myself amazed that your settlement was able to last for so long, especially out in the open. Do you know roughly how long it lasted for?” 

“Must have been more than eighty years,” Armin estimated off of the top of his head, a pang in his chest reminded him that he hadn't quite come to terms with the fact that his village was _gone_ , “My grandfather was born and raised there. I never really thought to ask about the past. Everyone was always so worried about the future.” 

“There's little need to worry about the future here,” the King set his spoon down in his mostly empty bowl, “We have the best of the best ensuring that the Kingdom of Sina will last for centuries.” He turned his attention to the nearest servant, a boy barely older than Armin himself with a shaven head, and began conversing with him about the next course. 

“Good food, right?” Marco smiled across at Armin, he was rapidly working his way through his third bowl of soup, “As great as the food is here, I can't wait to get back home and taste my mother's cooking,” he let out a longing sigh as he broke apart a crusty bread roll, “It's _incredible_ , Armin. Just you wait until you try her cottage pie. It's like nothing you'll have ever had before. The tender meat, the buttery potato, the perfect crust on the top...”

Armin furrowed his brow. “What's cottage pie?” 

“You've never had cottage pie?” Marco's eyes widened, “Seriously? Minced meat, mashed potato on top, handful of vegetables, sprinkling of cheese. It all sounds so simple, but when my mom does it, she makes it the best thing ever.”

“Sorry,” Armin smiled a little at Marco's expression, he looked almost devastated that Armin had missed out on something so good, “But I look forward to getting to try it? I'm really looking forward to seeing where you come from, actually. I want to see more of the Kingdom. The ocean is beautiful and everything, but I've never known anything else. I,” he chewed his way slowly through a mouthful of soup soaked roll, “I always wanted to see what was out there beyond the village. Maybe not quite like this but... I still wanted to see as much of the world as I could.” 

Armin pushed back his empty bowl, resisting the urge to grab another roll to dip into what little soup remained. He was taking Petra's teasing warning to heart, he had to be careful with how much he ate that evening. Even though she had fixed his pants to fit him a little better, they were still snug, bordering on tight. The lower buttons of his shirt were still pulling in their holes, creating gaps in the fabric. He watched as the table was cleared by the waiting staff, ready for the next course. 

He made the mistake of looking up across the table at Eren. The young Prince was staring at him, with his intense green eyes, in a way that sent shivers down Armin's spine. The two Princes had been seated next to one another, opposite Armin and Marco, while the King and Queen sat at the ends of the table. Armin thought back to the night of Gala, a dusting of pink spreading across his cheeks. Despite enjoying Marco's company, he couldn't help but wish that he was sat next to Eren instead. 

The next dish was something that Armin didn't recognise. Beige strands of what looked like overcooked dough curled about the edge of his dish, covered in what appeared to be like a thick stew. The gravy was red instead of brown, the chunks of meat were smaller, and a careful sniff revealed the sweet smell of tomatoes. Armin looked around the table at everyone else; no-one else seemed to be particularly perplexed by the strange dish. Eren and the Queen had sprinkled a dusting of cheese on their meals, Jean and the King had chosen to go without, and Marco was already twirling the dough strands about the tines of his fork, adding the cheese as he went. 

“Marco?” Armin whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “What is this?” 

“You've never had spaghetti bolo-” Marco cut himself off with an apologetic smile, “Sorry. It's spaghetti bolognaise. Pasta and meat and tomato sauce. It's great! But it can get pretty messy.” He gestured across the table to where Eren was fighting to keep a large helping of spaghetti tangled onto his fork, cursing as droplets of sauce flew everywhere. “Just follow what I do.”

Marco made it look so easy. He plunged his fork into a wave of spaghetti, twisted the strands into a ball, and then smothered them in a mixture of sauce and meat before bringing it up to his mouth. He didn't waste so much as a single drop of sauce. Armin's own attempts were less than successful. His spaghetti kept slipping off the fork, kept refusing to twist into place, and any attempts to add sauce to the strands was met with the spaghetti simply falling back off his fork _yet again_. 

Armin sighed slightly as he scooped up a helping of spaghetti and meat onto the base of his fork. If he ducked his head, he had just enough time to take a mouthful of food before it fell back onto his dish with a splat. The meal itself was incredibly tasty, the tangy tomato sauce complemented the warm spaghetti, and the tender chunks of meat were saturated with smokey herbs. Armin ate quickly, taking in small amounts at a time, and he could feel Eren watching him. His cheeks grew warm as he mostly nibbled his way through the meal, not daring to look up. Eren's gaze was doing something to him, and Armin wasn't entirely sure what it meant. 

On scraping the last of the sauce and meat up into his mouth, Armin pulled himself up from where he had been hunched over his meal. He took a napkin to dab at his mouth, and gasped against the thick cloth as he leant back in his seat. The waistband of his pants had tightened, for a panicked moment he thought that Petra's work had somehow come undone during the meal. He groaned quietly on seeing that it had been his stomach that had grown, packed full with the surprisingly delicious spaghetti bolognaise. It was round and taut, and had filled out enough to fight against his readjusted waistband. On shifting his weight, Armin froze on feeling a stitch give way underneath the pressure. 

He had to take it easy, Armin reminded himself sternly as the plates were cleared away. He would have to pick at dessert, and he would hopefully get back to his bedchamber before the rest of Petra's work came undone. He could feel the added panels struggling against his side, even the smallest movement threatened to pop open another stitch. He slipped a hand underneath the table to rub a hand carefully over the front of his stomach, and for a terrifying moment, he felt how tight the button of his pants had become. 

Something was going to give if he kept eating. Armin willed himself to be strong as the scent of something sweet penetrated the warm air, something almost familiar; rich and chocolatey. He watched with wide eyes as a large piece of chocolate cheesecake was set down on the table in front of him, the creamy chocolate gleaming in the light. A dollop of cream was starting to melt slightly from the heat of the room, and curly shavings of yet more chocolate were sprinkled across it. 

“Don't forget, there's more if you want it,” the Queen addressed the table with her gracious smile, her eyes settling on Armin in particular, “Eren tells me that this is your favourite. You're to have as much as you want. You certainly need it.” 

-

Four helpings of chocolate cheesecake later, it was a miracle that his pants were still in one piece. Armin gasped quietly to himself as he entered Eren's bedchamber, a hand wrapped protectively about the large bulge of his overstuffed stomach. For once he looked as huge as he felt, his belly protruded out in front of him, further than it had done the last time he had gorged himself on chocolate cheesecake. Several more stitches had come undone during the journey back to Eren's bedchamber, and Armin could _feel_ the remaining stitches struggling to remain in place. 

He needed to take his pants off before he ended up breaking out of them. 

“Armin?” Eren was just a step behind him, “You're not heading to bed already, are you?”

“Um,” Armin stammered, not daring to turn around, “I just... I just need to...” 

He wasn't sure why he felt that he needed an excuse. Eren surely would have been delighted to hear that Armin was getting bigger. But the idea of needing to pop open the button of his pants just felt so _personal_ , something that should be done in the privacy of his own bedchamber. Armin's shoulders tensed as he felt Eren move directly behind him, he could feel his warm breath ghosting across the back of his neck. 

“Turn around,” Eren murmured lowly, “Now.”

Now and again there was a tone to Eren's voice, the inflection of a Royal, of a _Prince_. He rarely used it on Armin, something that the blond was grateful for; he couldn't help but immediately comply with whatever Eren asked of him. He turned, and found himself facing Eren's chest. The Prince had always been taller than him, though lately it seemed as if Eren had grown a little taller again, and a little broader across the shoulders. 

While Armin had been growing steadily outwards, rather than upwards. 

“You know, I've been wondering why you've been running off after dinner lately,” Eren pressed his finger against Armin's chest, “I think I've figured out why.” He dragged his finger down over the curve of Armin's bloated belly, making him squirm. “You're really starting to fill out. Getting bigger, fatter.” He stopped on reaching Armin's bellybutton, it was just visible where the tight material of his shirt had dipped down to accommodate for it. “Your clothes must be getting more than a little tight, right?”

Armin whimpered as Eren pushed down hard against one of his straining shirt buttons. “Please,” he ran the tip of his tongue over his suddenly dry lips, “I'm so full. I won't be long, I just need to... to-”

“Get out of those pants?” Eren finished for him, his fingers skirting across the expanse of Armin's stomach, “You don't need to hide yourself away to do that. Let me help you out?” 

Armin could only nod mutely in response. He trembled as he felt Eren's long fingers trace along the tight waistband, with an occasional poke to his overhanging stomach. Even the smallest brush against his taut skin made him gasp, the tips of Eren's fingers were refreshingly cool against his flushed skin. Arimin bit down on his lower lip as Eren teased his way across the stitched panels that Petra had sewn in, making his way ever closer to the front of his pants. The button was pulled so tightly against his tender skin, it was starting to hurt. 

“Wow that's tight,” Eren fiddled with the button, gradually easing it out of it's hole, “Almost there!” With a final nudge from Eren, the straining button finally slipped free. Armin cried out in relief as his stomach surged forwards, out through his open fly. It seemed rounder and larger than ever. Red indentations circled the width of his belly, a reminder of just how tight his pants had become. Armin fought to catch his breath, the crest of his stomach rising and falling.

“Oh shit, Armin, that looks sore,” Eren ran the pad of his thumb over one of the deeper red lines, “Does it hurt?” Despite the concern in his voice, he was unable to stop the grin pulling at the corner of his lips. “There is no way that you're ever getting back into those pants.”

A shiver soaked Armin's spine at the finality of Eren's words. “It doesn't hurt. Just aches a little,” his breathing slowed, aided by the sensation of Eren's hands roaming over his heavy lower stomach, “I guess it's fortunate that Levi had me measured for new clothes.”

Eren hummed his agreement as his fingers skimmed across Armin's thighs. “You've put weight on here, too,” he fingered a ripple of silk, his eyes finding Armin's, “This is gonna sound kind of bad, but can I see?” 

“See?” Armin repeated, though he was fairly sure he knew what Eren was asking, “See what?”

“Uhh,” Eren looked away to the side, a rose coloured blush dusting his tanned face, “This sounds really perverted, but I promise it isn't. I just want to see _you_. You know,” he rolled his shoulder, “Without clothes on. Underwear is definitely fine,” he added quickly, eyes locking back on Armin's perplexed gaze, “Like I said, it's not anything _weird_. I just want to see what you look like without,” he plucked at Armin's tight shirt, “Without this in the way.”

“You could make me do it,” Armin found himself speaking before his mind could catch up, “But you're asking me. Why?”

“Because I don't wanna be like that,” Eren sighed, his breath hissing through his clenched teeth, “Ordering you to do something just isn't the same as you wanting to do it. I know, this is rich coming from the guy who is fattening you up for his own personal gain, but it's just how I feel.” Eren's shoulders tensed, his fingers curled up tightly against his palms. “But if you don't want to...”

There was little he wouldn't do for Eren, Armin realised as he began unbuttoning the front of his shirt, whether he ordered him to or not. He sighed in relief as his shirt loosened with each button that was undone. He unfastened the button that held his collar firmly in place, and the two halves of the shirt fell away from one another. He shrugged his shirt and jacket from his shoulders, in the same fluid movement, and let them fall onto the floor behind him. It was that small sound that drew Eren's attention back to him, his eyes wide in wonderment. 

“Armin, don't think you have to,” Eren caught Armin's hands within his own, “I meant what I said. I don't want it to be like that.” 

“I'm not doing this because I want to,” Armin admitted, tilting his chin up to look at Eren's face, at the conflict in his eyes, “I'm not doing it because you ordered me to. I'm doing it because you asked me to.” 

Pulling his hands away, Armin began easing his pants down over his hips. The material inched it's way down his soft thighs, catching every now and again; Eren made a quiet sound in the back of his throat each and every time. Fainter indentations had been left on his legs from the seams of the pants. Once he had gotten the pants down past his knees, they fell the rest of the way, pooling around his skinny ankles. Armin stepped out of them, his softer body jiggling from just that small movement. 

Armin stood before the Prince, open and vulnerable. He trembled slightly as Eren closed the distance between them, his bare stomach brushing up against Eren's clothed one. Eren tucked Armin's hair back behind his ears, his fingers lingering against his cheek. Armin's face was fuller, his cheeks rounder. He had lost the pinched and haunted look he'd worn on first arriving at the castle, and his pale complexion was now accompanied by a healthy, if faint, flush of colour. Eren trailed his hand down underneath Armin's chin, grasping it gently between finger and thumb. 

“You're beautiful,” Eren sighed, he was close enough for his warm breath to rush over Armin's lips, “But you're shaking... are you really alright with this?”

Armin smiled, his skin tingling in the wake of Eren's touches. “I trust you, Eren.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too keen on the end of this one, but this chapter was running away from me. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for the kind comments and kudos! Back from vacation, so hopefully we can get this back on track.


	5. Chapter 5

No-one had thought to inform Armin that they would be travelling to Trost along the river. 

While everyone else had headed inside after leaving the castle docks, Armin had chosen to stay out on the deck, looking out over the railings at the green-grey water. It wasn't quite as blue and brilliant as the ocean, and the musty smell wasn't nearly as nice as the sharp bite of salty sea air, but there was something about the slowly flowing water that calmed Armin's overtaxed mind. He found his thoughts drifting along with the gentle waves that lapped at the hull of the boat, his small shoulders relaxing underneath the folds of his new jacket. 

Armin's travelling clothes were loose on him, designed for comfort above all else. His silken garments had been replaced with simple cloth, not unlike the clothes he had worn back home. A pair of braces prevented his trousers from slipping over his hips, Petra had cheerily informed him that she had left him with a couple of inches to spare around the waist, which was useful because Levi had bluntly informed him that he had gained ten pounds in just one week. 

Ten pounds. The number kept repeating itself in Armin's brilliant mind as he mentally calculated how much weight he could stand to gain with a severely dampened metabolism. Ten in a week, twenty in two. Now that he was resting at at the high-end-of-average 135lbs, he would be over 150lbs when he returned to the castle, closer to 160lbs. And that, according to Levi's charts, would make him overweight. _Fat._. 

Leaning forwards against the railing, Armin shielded his eyes against the harsh winter sunlight. His cheeks were slowly becoming numb, and his breath was leaving him in puffs of mist, but he couldn't quite tear himself away from the gleaming water just yet. It was peaceful out on the deck, and Armin could finally see the Kingdom of Sina with his own eyes. Occasionally he was waved at from the riverbank, from eager eyed locals who recognised the royal crest on the side of the boat, though he sincerely doubted they knew who he was; even those who had seen him at the Gala would struggle to recognise him some twenty-five pounds later. 

The soft thud of footsteps pulled his attention away from the water, and to Mikasa, who had emerged from below deck with a mug cradled between her hands. Mikasa was one of two elite guards who had been assigned to their travelling party, and supposedly had the strength of ten thousand men. She strode towards Armin with purpose, her rounded thighs brushing against one another with each step. While her waist and upper body were just a little larger than average, her backside, hips and thighs were very full, stretching the limits of her military trousers. 

Mikasa offered the mug out to Armin, steam curling up from the hot chocolate. “His Highness thought you might be cold.”

“Thank you,” Armin wrapped his fingers gratefully about the mug, heat seeping from the china into his chilled fingers, “I am getting a little cold.” He took a tentative sip of hot chocolate, and warmth began to spread throughout his body. He could taste something a little spicier amongst the creaminess, the hint of alcohol. 

To Armin's surprise, Mikasa didn't go back inside. She instead leant down on the railing next to him, and readjusted her scarf across the lower half of her face. “He seems worried about you.”

Armin blushed. The intimacy of the previous evening was still fresh in his mind. While nothing had happened between them, there had been a _moment_ , one where it looked as if Eren was going to lean in and kiss him, and a moment where Armin desperately wished that he would. Somewhere along the way their companionship had become something deeper, something that Armin had never felt before. He wasn't sure if it was love, or admiration, or something in between, but he was finding it hard to look Eren in the eye without his stomach fluttering in response. 

There was that _moment_ , and then Eren had backed away, nervously murmuring that they should get to bed, as they had an early start the next morning. 

They hadn't really spoken since. 

“Eren- his Highness takes good care of me,” Armin sipped at his drink, his eyes drifting from the horizon to Mikasa's profile, “I think he's just looking out for me.”

“It's evident that you're well looked after,” Mikasa's gaze flickered downwards for a moment, scrutinizing Armin's fuller figure, “You've only been here for just under a month, and yet you seem to be... fitting in already.”

Sometimes, it was hard for Armin to remember that it really had only been a month. He felt a small jolt of excitement between his legs at the thought of how much _bigger_ he had gotten in that time, and hurriedly took a larger swig of his drink. His feelings regarding his weight gain had mostly been positive, but the fact he was actively enjoying it was something he had yet to deal with, something he couldn't quite understand. 

“Feels longer than a month,” Armin admitted, holding the gently steaming mug underneath his chin to try and thaw his frozen cheeks, “I never thought that I was going to be able to... fit in like this.”

A comfortable silence fell between them. Mikasa looked Armin up and down, her eyes glistening in the sunlight. “A hundred and thirty five pounds.” 

Armin nearly dropped his mug in shock. “Wh-what? How did you do that?”

“A gift of mine,” the corner of Mikasa's lips turned upwards, “I take it that I'm right?”

“You are,” Armin nodded, still unable to quite believe how accurate Mikasa was at just a glance, “Th-that's incredible. Can you do that with anyone?” Mikasa nodded simply in response. “Then... the Prince...?”

“Currently one hundred and fifty eight,” Mikasa recited, without a flicker of hesitation, “The Prince's weight fluctuates considerably.” 

Armin's chest tightened at the thought of drawing closer to Eren's weight, despite being a good few inches shorter than him, and eventually _surpassing_ it. He was tempted to ask about Marco's weight, but felt a clench of guilt for even thinking about asking. Marco had been nothing but kind to him, and asking about his weight behind his back felt almost intrusive. He tilted his mug to drink the last few dregs of hot chocolate, which weren't quite able to chase away the chill that had settled into his bones.

“You're freezing,” Mikasa noted in concern as she took the empty mug from Armin, her fingers brushing against his, “Come inside? The Prince will only worry.”

Below deck was unlike anything Armin had ever seen before. He had been on and off boats ever since he could learn to walk, but he had never seen one that looked more like a floating house. The main area below deck looked almost identical to one of the lounges from the castle, with carpets covering the wooden planks and bookshelves lining the walls. Couches and tables were bolted securely to the floor with bands of metal, and an elegant dining area had been set up underneath a large, square window. The world outside was blurred through the thick panes of glass, but shafts of sunlight managed to filter through onto the polished tabletop. 

Armin squinted slightly, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. “Where is everyone?”

“Resting,” Mikasa tilted her head towards a door, “We had quite the early start. Prince Jean and Marco are in there. Prince Eren is in the adjoining room.”

“Should I...?” Armin trailed off, his eyes going to Eren's closed door. His heart was already starting to pound in his chest, both from excitement and trepidation. He wanted to see Eren, part of him wanted to never leave Eren, but the other part was still worrying about what had almost happened between them the night before. 

“I think that he would like that,” Mikasa finished Armin's thoughts for him, almost gently, “Go on.”

Eren's bedchamber was more dimly lit than the main area, the only window was narrow, and sat high up on the wall. A lamp hung from the ceiling, swaying back and forth, sending shadows flickering across the wooden floorboards. A large bed sat in the middle of the room, dressed with all manner of pillows and blankets, and the walls were lined with storage space; shelves, cupboards and drawers. A heavy looking chair was wedged into the far corner, and there was a cosiness to the room, despite the slight coolness that came with being partially below the water line. 

Eren was curled up on one side of the bed, with a thick woollen blanket pulled over him. He had his hand tucked underneath his cheek, his eyelashes dark against his lightly tanned skin. He looked younger, more vulnerable while asleep. As if he were just another boy, not a Prince with the weight of responsibility on his narrow shoulders. There was no anger in his sleeping expression, just peace. Eren looked handsome most of the time, but under the soft lighting, he looked beautiful.

Feeling as if he were intruding on something private, Armin turned to leave. He winced as a floorboard creaked treacherously underfoot, followed by the rustling of bedclothes. 

“Armin?” Eren murmured, lifting his head from the pillow.

“Sorry,” Armin whispered, “Go back to sleep.”

Eren shook his head, his eyes blinking sleepily in the lamplight. “Come here?” 

As Armin reached Eren's bedside, the Prince reached out with a warm hand, catching Armin's fingers in his own. “Shit, Armin, you're _freezing_ ,” Eren shuffled across the mattress to make room for the blond, peeling back a corner of the blankets invitingly, “Get in.”

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Armin shrugged off his jacket, hanging it on a nearby hook. He leant over to untie his boots, his stomach pooching out into a small roll of fat. Armin's breath caught in his throat as he felt Eren's fingers on his sides, prodding at his excess flesh through the material of his shirt, and his boot laces slipped from his fingers. The front of Eren's body pressed against the curve of his back, his breath tickling the back of Armin's neck. 

“Armin,” Eren faltered, his hand cupping the faint curve of Armin's belly, “About last night. I overstepped a line.... _shit_ , I'm probably doing it again. You're just so irresistible, you know? If you want me to back off, then just say the word, and I'll-”

“No,” Armin breathed out shakily, his skin tingling underneath Eren's fingers, “I don't want you to stop.” 

“You don't have to agree because you think that you owe me or anything,” Eren sighed, a rush of air tickled across Armin's neck, “Like I said last night. Forget I'm a Prince, forget that you're not, I want this to between us as... _us_.”

“I meant what I said,” Armin reassured Eren, lowering a hand to rest on top of his, his pale skin contrasted against Eren's tan, “I wasn't doing anything under some sort of orders. I was doing it because I wanted to. I want this,” he linked his fingers into Eren's, his heart starting to race in his chest, “I want you.” 

“Armin,” Eren nestled his chin on Armin's shoulder, his cheek pressed against the delicate curve of his neck, “Can I... see you again?” 

Armin nodded. He kicked off his untied boots onto the floor with a couple of thuds, and allowed himself to sink back against the warm mattress. He went to unbutton the front of his shirt, but Eren gently batted his hands away, and took over. Eren wasn't quite as quick or efficient, but made up for it with sheer determination. He parted the sides of Armin's shirt, looking down at the soft swell of his belly. It looked smaller when he was led down, flatter. Eren unfastened the clasps of Armin's braces, and coaxed his shirt off completely, lifting the blond under the small of his back to do so. 

“Your pants are way too big,” Eren commented as he slipped his fingers easily in to the waistband, guiding them down over Armin's thighs, “What's that all about?” 

“W-well, given that I've put on a bit of weight lately,” Armin rolled his hips to help Eren remove his pants, “I think that Petra wanted to make sure that they would still fit me when we return.”

“Huh,” Eren leant backwards to remove Armin's pants completely, tossing them onto the floor, “It is pretty hard to come back from Marco's place _without_ having put on weight. Everyone down there just wants to feed you all day long,” he ran his fingertips across Armin's soft thighs, his lips parting as he moved further up his leg, “So soft.” 

Armin shivered as Eren straddled him, his knees resting either side of his hips. “C-can... I see you?” 

Eren's eyes widened briefly in surprise, before a smile flickered across his lips. “Sure. Only fair.” He removed his hands from Armin's thighs, and reached up to pull his long sleeved top off up over his head. His upper body was smooth and tanned, with faint lines of muscle snaking across his shoulders and upper arms. His stomach was a faint curve, small but protruding. Armin gazed at it, his mouth going dry. 

“We're the same size,” Armin noted softly, looking down at his own stomach, “I mean, there's not much in it. My stomach is.... almost the same size as yours.” He felt excitement reverberating in the pit of his stomach. 

“What do you know?” Eren grinned as his fingers began to explore Armin's exposed belly button, pressing down against the soft flesh, “I think you're right. Then again, this _is_ before we get stuffed senseless for about two weeks straight.” He lowered himself down against Armin, the curve of his belly pressing against his own. “You might be struggling to catch up again.” 

Eren lowered his face to Armin's own, close enough for their foreheads to touch. Armin gazed up into those eyes, those teasing, teal eyes that reminded him so much of the ocean on an overcast day. Green and blue, with just the hint of grey, and still utterly brilliant in what little light there was. Eren ran his fingers down the curve of Armin's cheek, and underneath his chin. Armin swallowed, his eyes darting to Eren's lips. 

Moments later, Eren's mouth was against his own. Armin felt himself sinking back into the mattress, his eyes closing. Eren's lips moved gently against his own, sending sparks of pleasure dancing along his spine. Armin felt Eren's hands slide back down to his stomach, to his hips, before dragging across his upper thighs. He gasped into the kiss as Eren settled more of his weight against him, pinning him effortlessly to the bed. Armin raised his arms, slipping them up around Eren's neck, his fingers twisting into the back of Eren's hair. 

He had never been kissed before, yet everything seemed to fall into place so easily. Eren was the first to break for air, his tanned cheeks dusted pink, his breath leaving him in short puffs. He grinned on meeting Armin's gaze, Armin found himself smiling back, his lips still tingling. Without another word Eren leant back down to kiss him again, Armin's stomach squirming with pleasure. 

“Never done this before,” Eren admitted sheepishly between kisses, his lips flushed pink, “Your lips are so soft. You're just soft all over. Soft belly, soft thighs,” he ran his hands up to Armin's upper arms, “You're softer up here too. Your hair,” he slid his fingers through Armin's hair, “Even that's soft. You're like one big marshmallow.”

The mere mention of marshmallow caused Armin's stomach to growl. Eren laughed in delight, his eyes sparkling as he met Armin's slightly embarrassed expression. “Hungry?”

“A little,” Armin confessed, touching a hand to his side, “Breakfast seems like it was a long time ago.”

“In all fairness, it sort of was,” Eren leant down to press a lingering kiss to Armin's lips, “Stay here? I'll go get us something to eat.” He lifted himself off Armin, and covered him up with the blanket to keep him warm. Armin watched as Eren pulled his shirt back on, with a twitch of his strong shoulders, and sank down further beneath the warm covers. “Stay there?” Eren called over his shoulder as he headed for the door, a brilliant grin flashing in the semi-darkness, “I'll be right back.” 

When Eren returned, he was balancing a large silver tureen between both of his hands. He set it down on the bedside table, and disappeared back out of the door to retrieve a tray piled with freshly baked bread rolls. Armin watched with wide eyes as Eren placed it next to the tureen, his mouth starting to water at the smell of the bread. Eren closed the door with a nudge of his hip, and headed back to the side of the bed. Instead of joining Armin again, he dragged the heavy chair out of it's corner, positioning it next to the bed. 

“Soup,” Eren offered as he pulled off the lid of the tureen, revealing an orangey-red tomato soup, a near perfect curl of cream on the surface, “You really liked it the first time you had it. Remember?” 

“The first night I was at the castle,” Armin smiled, it had only been just over three weeks ago, but it felt so much longer than that, “Ahh, but you didn't get any bowls for it.”

“That's because this is for you,” Eren dipped the ladle into the soup, “All for you. I grabbed something to eat in the kitchen.” He patted his stomach for emphasis. “Here, use this? I don't want to drip hot soup on you.” He passed a towel across to Armin, who fixed it across his bare upper chest, a self conscious blush staining his cheeks. “So soup or roll first?” 

“Roll,” Armin decided, the smell of them was too hard to resist, “Thank you.”

Eren dipped one of the rolls into the soup, and held it before Armin's lips. Armin smiled before taking a bite out of it. The combination of freshly baked bread, and sweet, tangy tomato soup, tasted wonderful. He swallowed before taking another eager bite. What little chill was left in him was quickly starting to fade, from a combination of soup and blankets. He had made his way through an entire roll without realising it, only noting when Eren was offering him a ladle of soup instead. 

The soup seeped down his throat and into his belly. Armin licked his lips to catch any remnants of soup that had been left behind, before continuing to sip greedily from the ladle. The soup was so thick and creamy, Armin could feel it oozing down his throat, and filling his ever growing stomach. It was a couple of bread rolls later when his stomach started to bloat outwards underneath the blanket. Armin took the last section of roll from Eren's fingers, swallowing and bringing a hand to his side. His skin was warm to the touch, almost as if he could feel the soup through the layer of fat. He smiled as Eren's hand joined his, his other hand offering out another full ladle of soup. 

Armin's stomach rounded out with each swallow of soup and bread. It was sticking out further than it had done when he had shoved a pillow up his pyjama shirt to create the illusion of having a belly. Armin felt dizzy at the thought, he really would be straining the buttons of the shirt if he pulled it on now. He found himself wondering if Petra had replaced his nightclothes too, because while they had always been loser on him than his days clothes, they too were starting to become a little snug. He swallowed a mouthful of soup sodden bread, and reached out to touch Eren's wrist. 

“Wait,” Armin noted a sudden flash of disappointment in Eren's eyes, Armin was barely half way through the tureen, “Ahh, no, I'm not full. I was wondering... oh this is going to sound strange.” He raked a hand nervously into his hair, trying to tuck the strands back behind his ear. “There might be a blue pyjama shirt in my luggage. I-it was the one I was wearing that morning you... caught me with the pillow.” 

Understanding dawned on Eren's face. “When you were 'practising'?” He turned away to begin looking through the trunk that contained Armin's clothes for the fortnight, all neatly folded by Petra. Eren dug deeply into the box, squinting in the darkness to try and pick out a pale blue colour amongst the rest of the clothes. “You, uhh, you think it will still fit you?” 

“I think so,” Armin admitted, watching as Eren's head of dark hair disappeared briefly into the trunk, “Though it might be a little tight while I'm so full. Back then, I had a thought. That I wanted to see my pyjama shirt filled with _me_ instead of my pillow. I want to see how close I've come.” He smiled gratefully on seeing Eren emerge with the soft flannel shirt in one hand, and accepted it from him. “Thank you.”

To Armin's surprise, the pyjama shirt was tight across his shoulders and upper arms, it was hard to remember that he had filled out a little in places other than his stomach and thighs. He tugged at the material so that it wouldn't pinch against his upper arms, and began slipping the buttons into place. The last time he had worn the shirt, he told himself, it had gaped at the front. Now, while it gaped at his chest, it was becoming considerably more snug about his belly. The buttons slid easily into place, but the fabric was pulled tightly, and the fourth and fifth button were tight in their holes. He looked up shyly from the mound of his belly to Eren. 

“Whoa,” Eren breathed out slowly, “That is just a little snug. That's the same shirt you wore back then? The one that pretty much drowned you?” He plucked at the sides of the shirt. “There's definitely not room for a cushion in there,” he added, peeling the material back from the curve of Armin's bloated belly, “You've got a pillow of your own, now. _Wow_.”

“It's mostly because I'm full,” Armin reminded Eren with a faint blush, but he was unable to stop himself from feeling a little flutter of excitement, “Well, almost full.”

Eren took up one of the remaining bread rolls, and dunked it into the soup without another word. “So then should we see just how full we can get you?” Eren's voice was breathless with anticipation as he held the bread roll to Armin's lips, “Here.”

Now that he was clothed, Armin was that much more aware of his belly growing bigger. He could feel the fabric of his shirt stretching against his rounded sides. He swallowed obediently, even though he was starting to feel full; he was well aware that there was still soup remaining in the tureen. His stomach bloated out further, rounder. He could feel the warm soup sloshing around inside of him. His belly was so tightly packed that his skin was taut and firm. Armin wriggled a little against the pillows to get comfortable, and gasped at the spike of pleasure that shot across his stomach.

“You are definitely-” Eren swallowed hard as he soaked up the last of the soup with the final bread roll, “- filling out that shirt.” He held the bread roll up as Armin took tiny, exhausted bites. The early start that morning was slowly starting to catch up with him, not to mention that he always felt a little sleepy after a large meal. He slid down the bed to lie down on his back, his stuffed stomach protruding upwards underneath the blanket. It looked as if he had smuggled a pillow underneath there, Armin felt a squirm of pride on knowing that it was all _him_.

He felt the mattress dip slightly as Eren joined him on the bed. Armin looked up through his eyelashes as Eren settled next to him, a hand slipping underneath the blankets to rest on the crest of his stomach. Eren shifted his weight to lie down next to Armin, and the blond noticed with a jolt that his stomach was bigger than Eren's now. It stuck out a good inch above his, packed tightly with bread and tomato soup. Eren's hand started to rub against the taut skin, and Armin sighed in contentment, his aching muscles already beginning to relax. 

“Get some sleep,” Eren suggested lazily, resting his head on the pillow next to Armin, “Not gonna lie, I'm still tired from getting up so _early_.”

Armin was too tired to protest, and lulled by both Eren's hand and the warmth of his overstuffed stomach, found himself drifting into a surprisingly deep sleep. 

-

After a dinner of cold meats and buttery mashed potatoes, out in the lounge area with Jean and Marco, Armin coaxed Eren into coming up on the deck with him. Night fell quickly on the river, and Armin could only just make out the blurred city lights through the lounge window. According to Marco, they had passed through Wall Sina during the afternoon. They had left the castle, and the inner city, and had moved into the more industrialised part of the kingdom. Towns and cities were clustered between the two walls, industrial and residential areas separated only by looming factories and grand public buildings. The area between Wall Sina and Wall Rose was over twice the size of the area inside Wall Sina; Marco informed Armin that it would most likely take them another day to pass through Wall Rose. 

“The buildings are so tall here,” Armin murmured as he moved to the edge of the deck, looking upwards in an attempt to see past the factories that loomed up on either side of the river, “But I can't see anything beyond them.” He felt a pang of disappointment, the city lights that had been so promising below deck were nothing more than than more factories. He imagined they were much more fascinating on the inside, on the outside they were just large, grey-bricked buildings.

“This part is pretty industrialised,” Eren admitted as he joined Armin, his elbows down against the railing, “It'll get more open further on. We'll be going by one of the magic schools at some point, that's always worth a look.” 

“Can anyone learn magic?” Armin looked over to Eren, “Or is it something that you're born with?”

Eren shook his head, tilting his head to meet Armin's curious gaze. “Nah, anyone has the potential to learn. Course the smarter you are, the easier it is,” he let out a short laugh, “Which is why I'm so bad at it. I think Levi's pretty much given up on me at this point. But you might be really good at it,” he added, inadvertently answering Armin's next question before he had so much as parted his lips, “You've got to be almost as smart as Levi.”

“Would I be allowed?” Armin's heart began to flutter in his chest. He had always found himself interested in what magic Levi used on him, but there was next to nothing about magic in the castle library. Armin was still a little too intimidated by the mage to ask him outright, but he desperately wanted to learn more about magic. About what else it could be used for, asides from protecting the walls and fattening him up. About the limits, about how it _worked_. He enjoyed life at the castle dearly, but his sharp mind _yearned_ for a challenge. 

“I don't see why not,” Eren began thoughtfully, his arm slipping around Armin's waist, “I bet Levi'd be willing to teach you. I know he hides it pretty well, but I get the impression he's actually pretty fond of you. In his way.” 

“I'd like that,” Armin leant into Eren's side, “I hope he likes me enough to teach me. In my own way, I like him too.” A part of him was still absolutely terrified of Levi, but that had lessened considerably over the short time he had known him. 

“Well if you want to butter him up, you're well on the way to it,” Eren patted the side of Armin's bloated belly affectionately, “Come back from Marco's a little pudgier, and he'll be falling over himself to teach you. Well,” he backtracked with a sheepish grin, “Maybe not 'falling over' exactly, but he might be more willing to teach you if he can see the effects of his hard work.”

Armin shivered as he felt Eren's fingers settle against the curve of his waist. “I might end up more than a little pudgy if I keep eating like this.”

“I don't think you'll be needing these braces when you come back,” Eren's hands slipped into the loose waistband of Armin's pants, balling his hands into fists to demonstrate just how much room there was to spare, “I think that you'll be holding your pants up all on your own.” His breath tickled against Armin's neck, making him weak at the knees. “Of course, one day, they'll be too tight for you all together.” 

“I'd really be big then,” Armin's stuffed stomach groaned underneath Eren's warm hands, “Really big.” 

“Fat,” Eren corrected huskily into Armin's ear, “You'd be _fat_.”

They sprung apart at the sound of footsteps coming up from below deck. Armin risked a glance at his shoulder, mildly irritated at the interruption. The second of their elite guards had headed above deck, a mild frown creasing across her forehead as she looked in their direction. Her pale blue eyes lingered on Armin for a little longer than he would have liked, before she jutted her head into a small nod, followed by a salute. Annie was thin, perhaps the thinnest person Armin had yet to meet in Sina. She was lean and toned, and while her strength didn't quite match Mikasa's own, she was still considered to be one of the military's finest. 

“Can't believe you were that small when you first came here,” Eren murmured as Annie moved out of earshot, “Want to head back down? It looks like she's going to be up here for a while.” Annie was patrolling the deck,her sharp eyes scrutinizing every last corner for something out of the ordinary. Armin felt that cold gaze on him once again, and he hurriedly nodded his agreement.

It wasn't that Annie was an unkind person, Armin reasoned as they headed back below deck. He barely knew her, he had only caught glimpses of her around the boat, and she had yet to speak in his presence. But there was something so intense about the way that she looked at him. It was different to how Eren looked at him, which was all passion and warmth. With Annie it was frosty and calculating, and something about it made Armin feel deeply uncomfortable. Mikasa was quiet herself, but she was friendly, and there was something sweet in her coy smile. 

With Annie, it was almost impossible to read the intention behind her unrelenting gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than I thought. I certainly wasn't expecting to spend an entire chapter on the boat.
> 
> Thank you for your continued kind words and patience <3


End file.
